


Filled With Empty Space

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Blind Character, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, M/M, Recovery, Slow Burn, Therapy, abelist language, masseuse Eric, mental health recovery, mentions of past violence, post-break down, post-coming out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack didn't think, he just acted, and didn't consider the consequences of coming out.  Then the worst happened, and it all became too much again.  Spending four weeks in a mental health clinic, Jack attempts to piece himself together.  He expects to find some peace there.  He does not expect to meet the quirky masseuse with the baking problem that is definitely not good for his meal plans.  And he most definitely does not expect to find love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mm just an AU idea I had. IDK where it came from and I have no idea how long it's going to be. Slow burn--but not THAT slow. x

He didn’t realise his knee was bouncing up and down until the little figurine of Wayne Gretzky toppled over. His face went hot as he pushed his foot down to the threadbare carpet, laying his hand down on top of his knee so he could stop himself if it got bad.

Clare was staring at him with a raised brow, concerned more than annoyed, though he knew this was only making her job harder. “We knew it was going to be tough, Jack.”

The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking straight away. He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Took a drink from the nondescript, plastic bottle of tepid water. Cleared his throat again. “I didn’t mean…”

“You can only be expected to handle so much. You’re not the first.”

His eyes went flat. “Isn’t that part of the problem? I am. And it was my own fault for thinking I could handle it. I just wanted to say something because if those photos get out…”

“You think he’d sell you out?” Clare asked.

Jack closed his eyes against the memory of their most recent argument. Kent’s voice had been so… so… He blinked his eyes open. “He can be unpredictable.”

“It didn’t occur to you he wouldn’t risk having to come out, just to try and ruin you?”

Jack licked his lips and found he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Sometimes with my anxiety I just…I can’t think.” He stressed the word too much, too loud, and she flinched. He looked immediately apologetic, hand running into his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry, Clare. I don’t…it’s just, it’s overwhelming and sometimes it overwhelms rational thought. I panic, I act. George said…”

“George advised you to come out when you were ready. Clearly you weren’t.”

“I should have talked to my therapist. I should have prepped myself for what was going to come next. I didn’t.”

“No. You didn’t. And you almost put someone out of the game for good.”

“He called me a…”

“We heard.” Her voice cut him off sharply, perhaps unwilling to hear the slur again—he didn’t know. He hadn’t intended on actually saying it. “I’m not saying your anger wasn’t justified but…”

“But nearly killing someone,” Jack said slowly, “there’s no excuse for that. I know that. I accept my suspension.”

“It’s not a suspension,” she said. “At least not officially. Not on your record. It’s a leave of absence. For your mental health. And you’ll be attending a facility to help you cope and get you ready to come back.” She gave him a slow, level stare. “No one wants you off the team, Jack.”

He swallowed, then nodded. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Shake her hand? Make a statement? His head felt like it was full of bees, the buzzing overwhelming every thought. He didn’t want to do any of this, but if he didn’t, that would be it for him. He’d be benched the rest of the season, and his career would be over.

He already couldn’t face the disappointment in his parents’ voices. He was grateful he was being sent to the States rather than a place in Canada. Being as far away from all of this as he could was the only thing keeping his head on straight.

Finally he rose, when it was obvious Clare had nothing more to say. He extended his hand and she shook it, holding on far longer than made him comfortable. “It’s going to be alright, Jack. Someone will check in on you weekly. It’s only a month and then…”

He raised a brow at her as her hand finally pulled away.

“And then we’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise, but he could appreciate that. He didn’t want to hear promises right now, when there were no real guarantees about his future. He’d fucked up, there was no denying that. He’d fucked up and this was the cost.

Grabbing his bag on the way out, Jack took care not to let Clare’s office door slam, and he made his way down the hall toward his car which he knew someone had pulled around out front for him. As he stepped outside, the air frigid, the sun glowering, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen.

Fifteen unanswered texts, mostly from Shitty who had seen the whole thing live. Couple from Lardo, though he knew she’d get all the deets from Shitty when Jack finally broke his silence. The Samwell Hockey Chat which Jack had never logged out of, even after he’d graduated, was full of messages of support.

It was something.

It wasn’t enough now, of course. Now he needed to get on a new regiment of medication, up his therapy sessions, and walk through these four weeks at the mental health resort, and get back on his feet. Because that was what Jack Zimmermann did. An overdose couldn’t stop him. Losing the Cup couldn’t stop him. And now he knew coming out of the closet couldn’t stop him.

Delay him, maybe.

But he was determined next season to be standing by his team, the cup in his hands, his head held high. He’d be able to look at his parents again, with proof in his bones that he was capable, even if he wasn’t always perfect.

*** 

Jack let out a puff of air as he approached the welcome desk. He’d been briefed by all of this prior to his arrival by his therapist who had personally recommended the place—and the doctor Jack would be working with.

When the idea was first presented to Jack, he was hesitant. “I don’t think my reputation can handle me being locked up in a mental health hospital for a month,” he told George and Clare who were sitting with the information packet. “I mean gay and crazy…”

“You’re not crazy,” George said, almost as though the response was on autopilot.

Jack knew better than the call himself that, but at the time he couldn’t seem to control himself.

“It’s not a hospital,” Clare went on to explain. “It’s a resort.”

Jack couldn’t help his snort. “Fancy word for rich people is what you’re saying.”

“It’s a place for you to get better,” George said, her eyes cutting to Clare for a minute. “Just…trust us, will you? We’re not going to try and damage your reputation further. A lot of professional athletes and other celebrities use this place.”

Jack bit the inside of his cheek and wished he’d paid enough attention over the last twenty-something years of his life to make a snarky pop-culture reference about a celebrity having gone off the rails. But his mind was blank. He took the packet and read it over, and hated they were right.

It was a place to help him get better, but it certainly wasn’t a place the media could use against him. At least, as much as they couldn’t use anything against him—which was to say everything. But it was better than nothing. It would show he was trying.

So here he was, briefed and getting his room key, and preparing his new routine.

Jack lived by routines. It was the only way to really keep a handle on his anxiety—which was probably why his knee-jerk reaction to a perceived threat was to come out. It threw off everything. Jack hadn’t prepared for the litany of questions and paparazzi hounding the door to his building, and PR having to clean up his mess every time he tried to go to the goddamn grocery shop for apples.

It was why his head was spinning and why he was unprepared for the ugly slur slipping past the lips of a player whose name he couldn’t even remember now, because all their faces started to blend together when his head began to spin and his fists began to fly.

He could still feel the crack of the helmet under his hands, and the way the body had gone still.

He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for that.

Jack got to his room, which was on the ground floor, near the indoor pool. Being in New England was close enough to Canada that he could at least predict the weather, and knew it would be a frigid enough winter. He knew there was a spring-filled pond on the property he could use to skate. He knew there was a place he could work out, and his nutritionist had already sent over his meal plans so he wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone.

It meant he could slip into a routine and hopefully get past this…whatever it is, with some sort of hustle because frankly he doesn’t want to be there longer than the required four weeks. But that was yet another thing to be determined based on his doctor’s recommendation.

The room was nice enough, Jack thought as he put his things on the bed. His four suitcases had already been brought up, and his toiletries were already on the bathroom counter. It was nicer than some of the hotels the team stayed at on the road, not nearly nice as his condo, but it was warm. The carpet was plush under his feet, and there were a few pieces of art on the walls that weren’t generic hotel or hospital art so it felt a little less like some type of confinement. 

That plus the key he had in his pocket meant he could come and go as he pleased, so long as he stuck to a routine. That was the point, after all, to get better.

Sat on the bed, Jack took a long look round the room and realised he wasn’t entirely ready to feel pent up. The flight left him jet-lagged, but he didn’t think he could sleep in this place. Not yet. He knew there was a gym nearby, so he slipped into a pair of joggers and one of his old Samwell hoodies. The familiar red was calming, and he almost, _almost_ picked up his phone to text Shitty.

But he wasn’t ready for that yet. 

Instead he turned his phone off, set it on the nightstand, shoved his feet into his untied trainers, threw a beanie on, and wandered out of the room.

It took him ten minutes to find the gym, mostly because the buildings were a maze of hallways and doors, and he ended up lost. Twice. But several helpful members of the staff got him pointed in the right direction.

The gym was actually on the second floor, in what one of the staff members called the fishbowl room. It only took stepping inside to realise what the hell that even meant. Three of the four walls were floor to ceiling windows, which overlooked the grounds. It was a sea of white presently, but from there he could see the pond off in the distance, and several cleared running paths.

No one was using them now, and the gym only had four people, none of whom he recognised, and none of whom seemed to recognise him. He felt his shoulders relax as he scanned one of the elliptical machines, then got on. It was facing the window, the cold seeping out toward him, but that would be welcome soon enough.

He grabbed his headphones out of his pocket and plugged them into the machine. There were buttons which had playlist suggestions, and he chose an 80s pop mix—something he could run to without getting distracted. The rhythm wasn’t the best for the run, but he didn’t really care. He just needed to move, he needed to sweat it out.

After an hour his calves were aching and his arms were tired. He’d barely broken a sweat, but he was fairly sure that after a short walk to the pond and back, he might actually be able to sleep. He wouldn’t have his welcome session with his new therapist until the next afternoon, so between a nap, a meal, a shower, and another full night of sleep, he’d have a chance to settle in.

Throwing his headphones back into his pocket, he regretted not bringing at least his iPod for music, but maybe the quiet of a snowy afternoon would be good for him. He had to learn to listen to his thoughts without getting overwhelmed by them. He’d been doing alright with it before…until all this.

He swallowed and thought about how one of the many missed messages on his phone might have been from _him_ and the thought made him feel queasy.

“No,” he whispered to himself. Then stopped because he didn’t want to be _that_ guy right now.

He eyed the exit doors. There were no signs telling him it was a fire exit, but he still felt a wash of anxiety as he pushed the handle and the door swung open. No alarms sounded, so he stepped out into the slushy snow at the start of one of the paths. He was fairly sure this one led toward the pond—and if it didn’t, well the building rose high into the skyline so it would be really impossible to get lost on the grounds here.

It was cold, but he welcomed it. And quiet, which was a little claustrophobic in a way. Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to focus on the sound of his shoes crunching along the snow as he made his way down the half-cleared path.

The pond wasn’t as far as he thought, nor was it as empty. He stopped next to an empty bench, but three down there was another person wrapped up in so many layers Jack couldn’t get more than a vague outline of pink-tinged cheeks which sat under heavy dark glasses. They had a hood pulled up and cinched tight round their face, and their hands were shoved into the front pocket of their zip-top hoodie.

Jack only stared for a minute before he sat down on his own space. He kept his hands dangling in the space between his knees. His face was tipped down, his unfocused gaze somewhere near his loose laces. He watched a bit of the snow around the heat of his shoes melt into the dirt. The entire place here would be boggy mud come spring, but he wouldn’t be around to witness it.

At least, that was his hope.

A tiny flame of paranoia flared to life in his gut. What if they didn’t want to release him? What if they decided he was too far gone.

Hockey wasn’t everything, he knew. I mean, he had a degree he could teach. Or coach. Or live off the ridiculous amount of money he’d already put away from the absurd contract he’d been offered. It wasn’t like he’d be destitute if this was it.

But he hadn’t wanted it to go this way. He just hadn’t thought he’d have yet another hurdle to jump after his slip-up with the meds.

His fingers were shaking, he realised, so he sat back and shoved them into his pockets. His gaze wandered around the pond, and he saw the person from the bench had gone. On instinct, he turned his head, but there was no sign of anyone now.

Strange, but it didn’t matter. Probably another high-profile person trying to stay incognito so the world wouldn’t know what an utter fuck-up their life had become.

He swallowed thickly and watched a couple of small blackbirds waddle across the ice.

Enough was enough. He was moping and this wasn’t conducive to his recovery. He knew what his therapist would say, of course. “It’s okay to experience emotion. You’re allowed to feel things, Jack, even if they aren’t good things.”

But he was goddamn sick of not feeling good things.

*** 

Stepping into the lobby, Jack kicked his shoes on the welcome mat, and was just turning when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He swore, turning, and saw a woman there whose eyes were wide and startled. “Sorry,” she said in a rush. “Sorry. Just…you’re Jack Zimmermann, right?”

Jack felt his heart thumping. How the hell did someone get in here? Was she from the press? Was she…?

“I’m Anna,” she said. “I had you scheduled down for a post-work out massage. Orders from your coach?”

He breathed easier. Employee, then. He realised he’d missed the badge she was wearing. “Oh. Did he?”

“You were checked into the gym. When you swiped your key at the door,” she explained. “You’re supposed to have at least a forty-five minute massage after each work out session.”

It was fair enough. It wasn’t like he didn’t get them back home.

“Yeah. Okay. Where do I go?”

She gave him directions, prompt and easy to follow which he appreciated. His fingers tingled with anxiety a little. This was throwing off his afternoon plans. He’d meant to go back to the room, order his lunch, then have a nap. But the massage was only going to take forty-five minutes.

He could adjust.

He found the welcome desk in the spa which was, oddly enough, located underground. The room was a very light coloured wood, and it was muggy and warm, but in a pleasing way. The scent was nice, sort of a lavender—not too intense, and soothing enough that he was relaxed even before he made it to the desk.

“Checking in for Jack Zimmermann?”

The woman behind the desk scanned her computer, then smiled. “Right. Sorry we’re busier than usual today, and had to call in one of our masseuses. It’s…do you have gender preferences or…?”

Jack frowned. “What? No I…whoever’s on is fine,” he said. Strange question, until he realised not everyone here was an athlete, and likely used to having things a specific way.

He eyed a chair, and she nodded at him. “Eric should be done in a moment. I’ll call you when your room is ready.”

It took ten minutes. Jack was getting agitated and restless, and contemplated the wrath of his coach. He was just getting ready to rise when his name was called, his calves were even strained with the aborted movement. He cleared his throat, eyed the exit, then turned and followed the woman down the hall.

There were about six rooms in total, he spotted. He was taken to the second on the left. It was bigger than he anticipated, the same easy scent, the table plush, the walls well stocked with oils and other things. It was low-lit and there was the sound of a fountain trickling from somewhere, though he couldn’t see one.

“Go on and undress. Warm towels are in the cabinet. Eric will be in shortly.”

Jack never liked this. The anxiety of timing when he was undressing. At the doctor it was the most stressful part, trying to wriggle into the gown before someone came in and caught him unawares. He hoped Eric would knock first at least.

Jack, as meticulous as ever, raced against the invisible clock as he folded his clothes onto the chair, then grabbed a warm towel from the cabinet and stretched out on his stomach. It was more plush than he was used to, and although his body was tense with apprehension, he felt comfortable. The towel draped across his backside was nice enough, warm at least, and he felt his eyes start to drift.

Then there was the faint tapping, and the click of the handle being turned. “Mr Zimmermann?”

“I’m on the table,” Jack called, grateful for the propriety. He had no problem with nudity, it was the lack of manners that got him every time.

The door swung open, a rush of air slightly cooler than the air in the room ghosted across his back, and his arms erupted into momentary gooseflesh. He took a breath and pushed his face harder into the circle of the massage table.

“Hi there, my name is Eric, and I’m sorry that took me a moment.” Jack was startled by the heavy southern accent, though Eric’s voice was lighter than he thought it might be. It made him sound short. Jack was tempted to look up, but he kept his face resolutely pointed down. “Are you comfy?”

“Ouais,” he said absently.

There was a pause, then a small giggle. “My guess is that wasn’t English.”

Jack blinked. Then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m comfy.”

A warm hand pressed to the centre of his back. “No need to be sorry in here. Just letting you know I don’t actually speak it. What was it?”

“French,” Jack murmured. The hand hadn’t left his back and it felt nice. He realised it had been a while since anyone had touched him outside of him being dragged off the rink. The thought alone made his throat go tight. He cleared it. “Means yes. I’ll try not to…”

“You’re perfectly fine, so long as you don’t mind me asking for translations,” Eric said, and there was a smile in his voice. His hand left, and Jack felt the absence of it right away. He heard noises—Eric preparing everything. “Oils okay? Any allergies? Your file had almost nothing at all.”

“Ah euh… no I’m…I think everything’s fine.”

Eric hummed a little, a light tune under his breath and Jack could hear soft thudding noises as Eric selected his oils and placed them on the table within reach. “You’re not French, are you? The accent is different. Subtle different, but it’s there.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Most people can’t tell.”

Eric chuckled back. “I can. Good ears, you know? Francophone, right? That’s the term? Let’s see…Canadian?”

“Mm,” Jack said. “Quebecois.”

Eric’s hand returned to his back, and his fingertips began a slow exploration of his muscles. “You ran today?”

Jack shifted a little. “Elliptical.”

Eric moved along his ribs, then up his shoulders. “I don’t usually talk much, and once I get to work you don’t have to worry about me chattering away, I promise. This is an intro meeting s’all.”

Jack nodded, said nothing.

“Jack?” Eric asked. “Is that alright?”

“Oh. Yes. It’s fine. I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired.”

“Well hopefully this will relax you enough to sleep. I’m very good with my hands, I promise.”

Jack swallowed, then did his best to answer all of Eric’s following questions. Soon enough, as promised, Eric went quiet. The oils smelt nice, they were warm and comforting, and Jack indeed learnt almost too quickly that Eric was good with his hands. He’d had some decent massages in his past, but this was…

He didn’t quite have the words.

He found himself drifting soon enough, and it was only when a warm, wet cloth moved across his back that he came to. On instinct, he lifted his head to glance over, and he got his first look at Eric. He’d been right, he was small. Young looking, but Jack suspected that was an effect of the shortness. His hair was shaggy, blonde, falling across one eye. He was good looking, there was no denying that, and Jack found himself staring at Eric’s fingers as he carefully slid each of the oils back into their places along the cabinet.

“Now, you just rest up there for a few. Once you feel ready to move, you just get on into your clothes and tell the desk you’d like to come and see me again. If you enjoyed yourself,” Eric added, sounding even a little insecure. “Just, you had some spots I think you could do with more work on. Poor thing.”

Jack swallowed as he laid his head back into the table. “Yeah no. It was…very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome Mr Zimmermann,” Eric said formally.

There was the shifting of feet, then Eric was gone and Jack was alone.

Normally he would have waited at least a few minutes, but the room started to feel lonely and oppressive. He swung his legs off the table and dressed, enjoying the lax feeling in his limbs, and the slight residue of the fragrant oils.

His clothes fit a little tighter for some reason now, but he was going to shower, eat, and rest, so it didn’t matter much. He slid back into his trainers, dragged a hand through his hair, then reached for the handle and let himself out.

He just reached the lobby when he froze. Eric was there, leaning into the chair of the receptionist and they were talking quietly. Eric was staring right at him, though he carried on and Jack frowned. Then waved.

The receptionist muttered something to Eric who brightened, and waved back.

Jack relaxed as he made his way over. “Euh…I’ll be working out again tomorrow morning so…coach’s orders?”

Eric didn’t look at him again, but he continued to smile. “I’m on at eight.”

The clicking of the keyboard was agitating and Jack wanted nothing more than to leave. But he also wanted to keep looking at Eric.

“Eight it is, if you can make it?” The receptionist’s voice cut through Jack’s thoughts.

“Oh. Yes. Eight is fine. Thank you. Um. Thank you, Eric.” Then he turned before Eric could respond and hurried out.

*** 

Back in his room, Jack managed to take down half his sandwich and most of the salad which had too much broccoli for his liking, but he wasn’t about to have his first day report sent back home stating he wasn’t eating enough.

He was in joggers and nothing else now, hair wet from a shower, and the radio on in the background. The Aces were playing, and his heart was beating too fast in his chest. His phone was waiting, like a beacon, calling him back to reality.

He wondered if this was okay, to look at these things. He felt too far gone right now to recognise what might be a trigger and what might not be. He sighed, then switched it on and waited for the screen to load.

Four more new texts, all from Shitty.

He swallowed and read them. The last was at least a question he could respond to.

_Yo, fucker, I just heard from Clare. How long will you be in for?_

Jack typed a response, the only one he planned to send until he had his first therapy session. **A month. I’ll be in touch when they tell me I can. Sorry about this Shits.**

He knew the response he’d get back from Shitty and the others. Chirping him a little, but ultimately sending their love and support. He took a breath and thumbed his inbox open.

Parse’s name was there, bolded. Three messages Jack didn’t want to read.

But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

**Bro, what the fuck was that?**

**Shit. I heard.**

**I know this probably my fault. I should have said something before your game. I’m sorry.**

He typed a hundred responses in his head before shutting the phone off and crawling into the bed. He wasn’t really tired, he was exhausted and worn but not tired. The effects of the massage were still running through his veins though. He could still feel the echo of Eric’s hands on him—steady and moving, steady and still. It was enough to lull him into a relaxed state, and sleep crept in without warning.

It wasn’t idea. This wasn’t where he wanted to be, but at least he knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this to be longer but I felt like this was a decent chapter ending. Poor Jack, already smitten.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of panic attacks (not in detail), anxiety, and past discussion of anxiety and the overdose (also not in detail)

Jack was unprepared for his reaction come morning. He was unprepared for just how much it was all going to be, and hadn’t prepared any sort of coping mechanism for when reality hit him that this was real, he was here, he had…done all of that on the ice. He was benched for the season, and would likely be spending the holidays at a trussed-up mental health hospital for the Rich and Famous.

It started off that morning with sleeping through his alarm. Or more accurately, waking up, switching it off, and going straight back to sleep. It resulted in him missing his usual morning work-out, missing his massage appointment—which bothered him more than he expected—and his usual breakfast.

He woke with a start to far more sunlight than he expected streaming through the slit in the curtain. His eyes were sleep-fogged, and it took him a few moments to blink tears enough to see the time. Half ten, which sent his heart racing.

He leapt from the bed, scrambled into the bathroom, and threw himself into a shower which was still frigid when he stepped under the spray. In hindsight, he was fairly sure that’s what triggered the panic attack. The water heated up as he began to wash, and the temperature difference happened a little too fast.

The next thing he knew, he was crouched at the edge of the shower, palms splayed flat against the fogged glass near the door, which he had somehow managed to coax open a little to breathe in fresh air. He wasn’t sure how long he had been on his knees, but it was long enough that there were little, round red spots on his skin from kneeling on the hard floor.

His hands were shaking and he was battling back the floaty fog and the racing heart as he forced himself to walk through his routine. Shampoo, rinse, soap, rinse, face wash, rinse.

He grabbed the towel from the rack, grimacing because it wasn’t as soft as he preferred them, but it got the job done even if it triggered a little bit of sensory overload. His fingers were shaking as he moved into the main room, and he stared at the small wardrobe where he hadn’t hung any of his things up yet. His case was still on the floor next to the bed, half-open from where he’d grabbed pyjamas the night before.

He licked his lips, grabbed a pair of joggers and a hoodie, then sat on the bed and rang the front desk. “Jack Zimmermann. I need to be put in touch with my therapist. I’m…having an episode.”

He waited thirty-seven seconds before the unfamiliar voice picked up. “Jack. Hi, we’re scheduled for one this afternoon. You need me now?”

“It…I. Yes, I think so.” Jack had long-since worked past issues of not asking for things he needed. Doing that had directly led him to his overdose and he did not want to go down that road. Set-backs, especially now, were to be expected. “Can you?”

“I’m sending a text to your phone right now with directions to my office. It’s in the second building from you, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

Jack didn’t give a good bye as he rang off. The phone made a funny sort of clicking noise as he cradled it, and he wondered for a moment when the last time he’d used a landline was.

Taking a breath, feeling a bit more solid than before, he found socks, then laced up his trainers just to keep himself busy. His body ached like he’d gone for a run, which meant he’d been way too tense in the shower. That couldn’t happen again. He needed to take his meds, but there was a good change they’d get changed or the dosage increased, and he still hadn’t eaten—though the thought of food made his stomach roil.

He fought back a wave of guilt that he’d missed Eric’s massage again. Strange, he thought. To care about something so superfluous. But Eric had been kind enough to him, not patronising in spite of the reasons why he was here.

He dragged a hand down his face, then picked up his phone, switched it on, and ignored all the messages except the new one from his therapist.

**Hi Jack, you can call me Mel, and here’s my office. If you get lost, someone can help you find it.**

The directions were explicit enough, if he had trouble finding it, he really would start to worry about himself. He grabbed a beanie and headed out, hoping no one would recognise him. Luckily he met with almost no one as he slipped out the main doors, and followed the path to the building with all of the offices.

It wasn’t far, and the cold did enough to snap him back every time he felt himself drifting. “This is normal,” he muttered to himself. “This is to be expected. I’m allowed to feel things.”

He reached for the handle on the door, steeled himself for the inevitable, then walked inside.

*** 

To her credit, Mel was nice and calming. Jack was apprehensive enough having a new therapist during this inpatient treatment, but she had the same vibe as his old one at home. It made sense why she’d been chosen for him. She let him talk, didn’t ask leading questions, and asked him what he was comfortable with moving forward.

He walked out with a five-mg increase on his meds, and appointments with her three days a week to start, to be increased or decreased as they saw fit. He’d allow himself group therapy one day a week if he wanted it, and to speak with a specialist counsellor about what happened after he came out. He agreed to anger management twice a week as well, which he wanted to balk at because he didn’t have an anger management problem. Only…that wasn’t quite right, was it? I mean, his behaviour spoke for itself. So…it was what it was.

It seemed fairly standard.

Mostly he was supposed to rest, and recover, and try to come up with a plan for after he left. It wasn’t going to be over, he knew that much. There would be more jibes, his personal life would be news, and any time he was spotted in public with another man, there would be speculation.

He knew this. In the back of his mind he knew this when he came out the way he had.

“You discussed at length with your other therapist about why you came out so suddenly,” Mel had said earlier, just before their session ended. Jack was calmer now, more focused. “Are you still struggling with your decision?”

Jack licked his lips, letting his hands hang in the space between his parted knees. “Je pas. I mean, I…think in the long run it’ll be easier. I wanted to take matters into my own hands, and the threat of being outed against my will…” He trailed off and thought about that last conversation and shuddered. “With space from it, I know I overreacted to the threat.”

“Do you want to talk about what threat?” Mel asked gently.

Jack shook his head. “Not yet. I think I need to feel a bit more centred before I can get into it.”

“That’s fair. It’s something we should talk about, because clearly it’s a trigger for you. But I’ll wait until you let me know you’re ready.”

She had asked him about his plans for the day after that. A run, he said, and something to eat. He’d take something to help him sleep that night, and attend one of the anger management classes the next day.

“Thank you,” he said to her, and he was surprised to hear how sincerely he meant it. She shook his hand, offering him an easy smile, then showed him to the door.

He felt better, not the best but better at least, as he made his way back to his room to find better running clothes. He should eat, he knew. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but he had to keep to his meal plan as much as he could, and there was a chance the upped dosage of meds could mess with his appetite for a few weeks as he adjusted.

With a sigh, he opened his door and moved to his bed. It took him a moment to notice the change. There was a small, covered tray on the desk, and a bright pink post-it attached to the side with a note written in thin-tipped sharpie.

**Jack, sorry we missed our session this morning. I thought you could use this to cheer you up. I know first nights can be rough. Call at the desk if you want to reschedule. ~Eric**

He blinked, confused by the note, by the presence of the tray, by the warmth in his gut. He lifted the cover and saw a small what looked like quiche in the centre of the tray, along with two mini-muffins, and another note, this time on a green post-it.

**I checked with your nutritionist. Got the A-ok. ;)**

In an almost absent motion, Jack lowered himself to the chair in front of the table and grabbed the small fork off to the side. He dug in, and the first bite startled him. It was colder than a quiche should be, but the flavours made up for it. The crust was perfect, flaky and soft, and the seasonings were a delicate blend which took away from the fact that he was probably eating low-fat everything, and egg-whites only.

He tried the muffin next, and actually let out a groan. They were sweet—but not overwhelming, and he swore he tasted maple syrup flavour.

He devoured both without a second thought, and strangely his cloud of frustration seemed far higher above his head than it had since he arrived. He felt his mouth turning up at the corners, and he had an almost bounce to his step as he dressed for a run.

Making his way to the lifts, he found himself hitting the button for the spa floor instead of the lobby, and made his way down the dim, comforting corridor to the main lobby. A different receptionist was there this time, and she smiled.

“Appointment?”

He shifted his feet nervously, realising he had just showed up and there was a damn good chance Eric was busy with appointments. “Erm. Is Eric available?”

She blinked at him. “Are you booked this morning or…?”

“No I…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink post-it. “He left me this. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Her face went soft. “Ah. That would be Eric. Well he’s not in right now. I don’t think he will be for the rest of the afternoon. He’s probably out skating.”

Jack blinked. “Like…on the pond?”

Her face went hard for a moment, like maybe she shouldn’t have said that to a patient without even knowing why he was here. But she shrugged after a second. “Sometimes.”

Jack nodded, then pushed the note back into his pocket. “Thank you. If I don’t see him will you tell him Jack Zimmermann said thank you. And erm. I’d like to maybe re-book an appointment for tomorrow. With him,” he said, in case it wasn’t clear.

Her smile was a little patronising, but she quickly pulled up her appointments and got him in for nine the next morning. “See you then, Mr Zimmermann.”

He nodded and hurried away before he could make more of an ass of himself.

Luckily the run helped. He avoided the pond, not wanting to seem like a creep, but it looked like all the running paths eventually led there. He was coming round a snowy bend, just beyond a line of trees when it came into view. His footfalls stuttered, and the music on his headphones sounded far off as his eyes fixed on the person in the centre of the ice.

It was Eric, there was no doubt about it. He was bundled up in what looked like two jumpers and two squashy coats. But there was no mistaking the thatch of blonde hair, or the absolute grace in which he glided through circles and short jumps.

Figure skater, Jack realised. His form was shaky, amateur, but far better than Jack might have ever done.

He realised he’d stopped running after a moment, and it was only when he heard the crunch of hard snow under his shoes that he realised he was moving closer. Eric’s things were resting on a bench, and he was skating round the ice with his eyes almost shut. He had earbuds, so Jack didn’t call out to him, only stood patiently until Eric had finished.

His routine ended with a final jump—something that should have probably been a double-axel, but it landed hard and halfway through the second spin. Eric froze, eyes wide as he turned, then he began to skate toward the bench.

Jack lifted a hand to wave, but Eric didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Maybe he was being a total creep.

He waited until Eric removed the headphones and tried to sound as polite as he could. “Eric, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your skate time.”

Eric jumped, startled, throwing a hand to his chest as he reached out to touch the bench. “Jesus! Jack?”

“Euh…yes?” Jack said, the word coming out like a question.

“Sorry, you just startled the heck out of me. Have you been here long?”

Jack stared. “No. Just…was out for a run.” He was watching Eric keenly, and things were starting to click into place. Eric wasn’t looking at him as he sat to untie his skates. He wasn’t looking at anything really. 

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Oh,” Jack blurted.

Eric blinked, then smiled. “Oh?”

“I uh…” Jack didn’t exactly know the polite phrasing for, ‘Are you blind’ so he sort of just…blurted it out.

Eric blinked again, then threw his head back and laughed. “Oh you sweet thing. You didn’t know already? No one said?”

Jack gripped the back of the bench. “No. Should they have? Is that like…something people normally say about you?”

Eric shrugged as he eased into his trainers. His fingers did up the laces efficiently before he shoved on a pair of fingerless gloves which stretched nearly to his elbow. He fished round in his things, and produced a white cane which he flicked out. “I don’t much think about it. Everyone seems to know at some point.” He started forward, then paused and turned his head back. “You comin’?”

Jack startled, then jogged a bit to catch up. “I um…feel like maybe I was being rude or something.”

“You’ve been just fine, I promise.”

There was a silence, Jack keeping pace with Eric’s smaller stride, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “I um. I wanted to say thank you. For the food. I had a bad morning.”

Eric’s face dropped a little. “I overheard. I didn’t mean to,” he said swiftly, as though it was the wrong thing to admit. “I just happened to be round the corner when Beth mentioned it. I know it can be tough here. Happens to the best people, you know? And comfort food is sort of my thing.”

They rounded the bend, Eric navigating with ease, and Jack found himself relaxing to his soothing, southern lilt. “It was appreciated, believe me. I didn’t expect to wake up so badly this morning.”

Eric shook his head. “Gets worse before it gets better. But if you find yourself in need of comfort pie, you promise to come and find me.”

Jack found himself laughing a little. “Pie, huh?”

“Trust me, you’ll never taste one as good as mine. Moomaw taught me everything I know.”

Jack blinked. “I don’t…think I know that word.”

Eric froze, then laughed. “It’s my grandmother. Southern slang, sometimes I forget. Canadian,” he added with a cheeky smile.

Jack found himself grinning harder.

“But you believe me, mister. I know food can’t replace actual treatment, but it can distract for a little while.”

“So you’re famous for your pies and massages?” Jack said.

Eric giggled. “Something like that. Also my Beyonce renditions and my terrible dance moves. And the skating, I suppose.”

“You used to do it a lot?” Jack asked. They were getting closer to the main building, and he noticed Eric had slowed down.

“When I was a kid,” he replied. “Before I went blind.”

Jack bit down on his lip, wanting to ask how, but he also know how terrible it could feel to be asked questions like that. “Well you have great form. Better than I can do, and I live on the ice.”

Eric stopped a few feet from the door, tucking his cane into the crook of his arm, his other hand curled into a fist, propped on his hip. Jack found the pose almost unbearably endearing. “You live on the ice, do you? Hockey, is it? Because let me tell you, I’ve had my hands on that body and I can’t see you spinning around to Andrea Bocelli.”

Jack found himself laughing properly. “Ah, yes, Hockey.”

Eric’s smile widened. “I had a feeling.”

“Oh.”

“Canadian,” Eric repeated, stressing the word.

Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s a stereotype.”

“And was it wrong?” Eric asked, waggling his brows.

Jack nudged him playfully with his elbow. Eric wobbled, but steadied himself with a startled laugh as Jack said, “All the same. Next thing I know you’ll be serving me crepes with maple syrup.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Eric chided. He took his cane back in hand and grabbed the door, holding it open. “With that, I have to say goodbye, Mr Zimmermann.”

“Jack,” he corrected swiftly.

Eric smiled. “Jack, then. And if you like, call me Bitty. Or Bits. Everyone does.”

“Is it because you’re itty-bitty?” Jack asked as they stepped into the warm lobby.

Eric’s smile was pure sunshine as he turned toward Jack and nudged him back the way Jack had a moment ago. “I can tell you’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

Jack blushed. “I should go work out. I’ll see you tomorrow for my appointment.”

“I can’t wait,” Eric said. He gave Jack a mock-salute before turning, and before long he’d disappeared down the hallway and was out of sight.

Jack shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie, and pretended like he couldn’t see the small grin on the receptionist’s face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: anger issues, anxiety, mentions of homophobia, and hints at self harm (in the form of working out too hard).
> 
> Poor Jack. I swear it gets better for him soon.

Jack didn’t have a truly bad day for eight full days at the centre. Which, he supposed, might have been some sort of record. But when the day did come, he was unprepared. He’d already settled into a routine, and had been doing well with therapy, group sessions, working out, and his occasional conversations with the adorable Southern masseuse who worked him into a pliant bowl of jelly.

But then things got a little ugly.

Jack had been following Mel’s advice about not speaking to anyone directly about his progress yet. He was avoiding his messages inbox, and hadn’t opened a single email since his arrival. But Thursday morning his phone was blinking, and he opened it up to see one name on the screen.

K. Parson.

With a sigh, and not quite sure why he was doing it, he flicked the message open. There were six, in succession, three he’d read, and three which were new.

**Jack, fuck, I’m so sorry.**

**I know this is my fault.**

**Please talk to me, just let me explain. I’m so sorry.**

It hit him, for whatever reason, that he desperately wanted to hear the apology. Not because he wanted to forgive him, not because he trusted him. But he didn’t trust himself, so he set his phone down, got into the shower, and began his normal routine.

If he ran just a little bit harder that morning well, he chalked it up to needing a bit more cardio. But then he stepped into Mel’s office, and at that point, the shit hit the fan.

“I think…I was wondering,” he said, clenching his hands together, and he took a breath. “Parse sent me a text asking me to let him explain and apologise.”

Mel looked at him for a long while. “I see.”

“Do you think I should let him?”

She tapped her pen on her notepad for a moment, her brows slightly furrowed. “Jack, you know that this is patient-led therapy, and I mean that. But right now I don’t feel like you’re ready to hear it. I think it would trigger negative episodes, and I’d like to see you in a more stable place before you directly confront the trigger which led you here.”

It made sense. It was logical, and Jack knew it. But he was angry because it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted to be well enough to confront Parse, he wanted to be well enough to fucking shoulder the knowledge of why his ex would be so fucking cruel and thoughtless. He wanted to be well enough to accept his own part of the responsibility because it wasn’t all Parse, it truly wasn’t. He was mean, and Jack overreacted.

But he wasn’t well enough.

Jack left his session with Mel the worst he’d been since he arrived. He made it ten minutes into group therapy when someone made a careless remark about “the gays” and Jack snapped. His eyes went dark, furious, and as he stood, his chair went flying backward and he stormed out.

He half expected someone to come after him, but the hallway remained empty as he found himself making his way back to the gym.

He wasn’t properly dressed or warmed up for it, but he threw himself onto a bench, shoved the peg down into the hole, grabbing two-twenty in weights, and began to pull the bar down over and over and over and fucking over until it hurt.

He began to sweat, and shake, and there was a twinge in his back he knew was going to be bad later but he didn’t want to stop until the raging ache inside him did. The last time he felt anywhere near this bad he’d popped the lid off his anxiety meds and tried to make it stop that way.

He wouldn’t do that again.

But he could do this.

Twenty full minutes later, he let the bar slide from his fingers, and realised that he’d made a mistake. He was fairly sure he’d pulled something in his right shoulder. His arm had lost full range of motion, and his fingertips felt numb as he tried to flex.

“Tabarnak,” he swore, dragging his left hand through his hair.

Standing up, he glanced round and saw a few people trying—and failing—not to stare. He had definitely made a show of himself, but right now he needed to try and fix this. He knew asking for muscle relaxers was out of the question, so his only other option was the spa.

He made it to the lift before his face fell in pain, and by the time he reached the reception desk, his hands were trembling with an effort not to collapse. There was no one behind the desk, and a small sign said the spa was closed for lunch.

Rubbing his hand down his face, he took a few steps back, then heard something. A soft beat which sounded like it was coming from headphones turned up too loud. Not really thinking, he ventured further and round the corner to what looked like an office, the door cracked.

Jack peered inside, and in the corner lounging on a soft chaise was Bitty, his legs cocked up, a book on his lap. His right hand was trailing over the braille, his left hand holding what looked like an iPod, flicking through music.

Jack blushed, then knocked on the door. “Erm. Bitty? I’m sorry to interrupt but…”

Bitty dropped the iPod and laid his legs flat in surprise. “Jack?”

“Yeah I…sorry I…” He huffed a breath. “Sorry, I know you’re closed for lunch. I saw the sign. Wasn’t sure you were on today,” he rambled.

There must have been something about the tone in his voice, because Bitty quickly pushed the book to the side and he was up, striding for the door with his hand out. His fingers met the jamb, and he shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Bad day,” Jack said, voice barely above a mumble. “I…had a bad session, and then someone said…” He licked his lips and sighed. “Something stupid in the group session and I took it out on myself and the weight machine.”

“Oh you sweet thing,” Bitty said. “Hurt yourself?”

“My arm’s not…functioning at full range,” Jack admitted.

“Lord above,” Bitty said, but he was smiling. “Okay come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

“You’re…closed,” Jack said a bit lamely as Bitty brushed past him. He walked familiarly, hand out as he crossed the corridor and reached the wall. Jack watched as Bitty’s fingers found the plaque, then the door handle, and he swung it open. “Come on, you. No dawdling.”

Jack snapped into action, suddenly and profoundly aware of the pain in his back, and the tightness in his fingers. He hurried after Bitty into the room, and the door was shut. The room was dark as it was before, which was soothing, even as he stood there a bit awkwardly.

“Go ahead and undress,” Bitty said as he reached for a few bottles of his oils. He removed a couple of the caps and sniffed at them before grabbing a small, ceramic bowl and pouring a dollop inside. He turned his head after a moment. “Promise I won’t look.”

Jack blinked at him, startled. “I…was that a…did you just…”

“Make a blind joke?” Bitty asked, and giggled. “Come on, no better way to ease the tension than a little, harmless chirp. Really though, I’ll keep my back to you.” He did so, taking two steps to the side, and grabbed a warmed towel from the cabinet, holding it out to Jack behind his back.

Clearing his throat, Jack felt himself blushing even though he was far too often completely naked in front of several teammates and staff members. Possibly it was because he liked Bitty, possibly because at times he thought Bitty might like him back. At least a little.

But this was no time to be suddenly shy. He stripped down, carefully setting his clothes on the chair, shoes tucked under, and he hoisted himself up onto the bed. He arranged the towel carefully, and as he laid his arms back, he let out an involuntary groan of pain.

“That does not sound good,” Bitty said, finally turning. He had just finished mixing up the oils, and his hand went out, pressing to the centre of Jack’s back. “How bad’s the pain?”

“Ah,” Jack said, wincing a little as Bitty’s fingers travelled up along his spine, pressing to find the tension. “A seven, maybe?”

“Is that like a Hockey Player I get concussions for a living sort of seven?” Bitty asked with a slight laugh.

Jack couldn’t help a tiny chuckle back. “Maybe. But I’ve had worse. I just…if I don’t get it worked out and it tightens up…” He cleared his throat. “Euh…at games we soak or have someone rub out minor injuries.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Bitty said, pressing down. Jack sucked in his breath as Bitty found the spot, and he pulled back. “Oh darlin’ that does not feel good. Okay you just relax as best you can. I’ll go easy, see if we can’t get this to loosen up. I don’t think you’ve pulled anything, but it was a near miss, I’d say.”

Jack let out a trembling breath, but said nothing as Bitty applied the oil mixture. This time it had a tingling, warming effect. He smelt something like tea tree or eucalyptus. Possibly lavender, earthy and soft. It hurt when Bitty began to work the area, but he could already feel the tension easing.

“I…” Jack swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

He could hear the smile in Bitty’s voice when he said, “Hush now. Let’s work this for a bit, alright?”

Jack said nothing, and tried to focus on just the feel of Bitty’s fingers on his back. Only, as Bitty kept working, something started shifting in him. As Bitty began to drain the tension out of his muscles and tendons, things began to surface. Emotional things. The hurt after Parse, the fear, the apprehension of knowing the world wasn’t entirely ready for a gay hockey player. The terror when he had to look on his parents’ faces. And the rage he felt when that slur slipped past the other player’s lips on the ice.

Suddenly, as though he wasn’t even entirely aware of it, Jack let out a sob. His uninjured arm flew up, disrupting Bitty’s flow, and he pressed his knuckles against his mouth. But another sob broke free, then another. His eyes were hot, dripping tears down his cheeks and as much as he tried to clamp down on it, there was no stopping it.

Bitty, for his part, said nothing. He didn’t stop working, though his motions turned more soothing than therapeutic. Jack pushed his face hard into the small circle, his hand now clutching at the side of the table, and he surrendered to the inevitable. 

He hadn’t cried. This entire time he hadn’t cried, and now it was unleashing a torrent of emotions he’d been holding on to for so damned long.

It ended.

Eventually.

It felt like years, but the sobs quieted and the tears dried, leaving his face sticky and feeling stretched. His throat felt raw, and he knew he couldn’t look up at the other man who had managed to work most of the tension out of his shoulder.

“I…” He cleared his throat.

“Not a word,” Bitty said, very softly. His hands paused, pressing flat against Jack’s shoulder blade. “Jack, I’ve been doing this a long time now, okay? People are here for…a lot of reasons. And sometimes digging into your body like this releases things. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.” Bitty went quiet as he moved to grab a warm, wet flannel and he gently scrubbed up the excess oils on Jack’s skin.

Jack took a few, shuddering breaths and tried to let himself believe he had nothing to be sorry for.

“Now. Do you have any other appointments this afternoon?”

Jack eased himself up onto his elbows, rolling his shoulders back and pleased to find out that he actually felt little pain. “Ah. No…?”

“Because you need to be resting that arm. Which means no elliptical, no weights,” Bitty said, waggling a finger at him before scrubbing at his hands with the flannel.

Jack ducked his head, embarrassed now that he’d completely lost it. “I won’t,” he said quietly.

“Now,” Bitty said as he put the flannel down, “I do think this calls for some pie.”

Jack froze, blinking. “Erm.”

With a grin, Bitty crossed his arms and leant back against the work table. “And I happen to make the best pie this side of the Mississippi.”

“I’m not really supposed to,” Jack mumbled.

Bitty laughed, raising a brow. “Were you supposed to try and rip your arm off on the weight machine?”

Jack couldn’t help a small chuckle in return. “I suppose not.”

“Then I don’t see what there is to worry about. I’m going to get my things, you get yourself all dressed, then we’ll see about getting you some sugar, and a little bit of rest. Deal?”

Jack thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Eric was an employee and Jack wasn’t exactly there to meet someone. But if Bitty was offering, Jack was sure he wasn’t breaking any rules, and honestly a little rest and some comfort food sounded better than anything he’d experienced so far that afternoon.

“D’accord,” Jack said quietly.

Bitty’s grin widened. “You’re gonna have to give me lessons in that, you know.”

Jack blushed. “Sorry, I…”

“Enough of your sorry’s. You get dressed and meet me by the desk.” With that, Bitty hurried across the room and slipped out, closing the door with a soft click.

When he was alone, Jack sat up, arranging the towel back over his legs and scrubbed at his face with the heels of his palms. He felt exhausted and strung out, wanting more than anything for this all to be over. He wanted his strength back, he wanted to stop falling apart.

He knew this would be forever. He knew his anxiety would never be cured, and he knew that he would slip up sometimes. But he was teetering dangerously close to the bad place he’d been in when he was eighteen, and foolish, and in love with someone who didn’t know how to handle him.

Now he was pushing thirty and he had been doing so well. Until now.

Taking a breath, he knew this was not the time for this. He’d text Mel and ask her for another session. He wouldn’t get angry, he’d listen to her. He’d let her help him sort it out.

And today…

Well today he would have some pie with an adorable southern man who seemed to just want him to feel better without an agenda. And that almost felt like it meant something.

Getting dressed, Jack had a bigger bounce to his step as he stepped back into the lobby and found Bitty waiting with his pack on his shoulder, cane in hand, and a wide grin on his face.

*** 

“…so this poor kid just…flails. Next thing I know there’s pie everywhere—I swear to you I was washing it off from behind my ears.”

Jack grinned into his decaff cappuccino as he listened to Bitty’s enthusiastic story about how he attempted to teach some singer Jack didn’t recognise, how to make his patented cherry pie. “That sounds…harrowing,” Jack said.

Bitty kicked at him under the table, grazing his ankle a bit with the tip of his shoe. “It was, Jack, believe me.” He put a hand to the centre of his chest, “I pride myself on being able to teach anyone how to make a good cherry pie, and he was fixin’ to tarnish my reputation.”

Jack snickered. “And did he accomplish it?”

“After the fourth disaster,” Bitty said with an indignant sniff, “yes. I have not kept up with him to ask if the trend continued.”

Jack chuckled and shook his head. In front of him, a plate of half-gone apple pie sat, a dollop of homemade coconut whipped cream melting gently into the crust. “Well I won’t ask you to teach me. Believe me…I would ruin you.”

Bitty grinned a little, reaching for his tea. “Why do I have a feeling you would?”

Jack almost choked. The words were…different. Throaty and flirty and Jack wasn’t sure if it was just his own feelings making him read more into it than he should be. He scrubbed his face. “Maybe something simpler? Like cookies? So I can impress my maman when I see her next.”

Bitty grinned. “I have some delightful holiday recipes. You and I will have a baking lesson, it’ll go on my agenda.”

Jack bit his lip, then scooped up a bite of the pie. The sound of his fork meeting the porcelain made Bitty smile as he waited for Jack to finish chewing.

“Alright. What is your official opinion, Mr Zimmermann? Is that not the best apple pie you’ve ever tasted?”

Jack licked a bit of apple from the corner of his lip. “Yes,” he said, which wasn’t a lie, but there was a but hovering in the air.

Bitty immediately heard it, his eyes going narrow. “Go on,” he said, his voice almost dangerous.

Jack almost laughed. “I was thinking,” he said very slowly, poking at the crust. “It’s almost like…it’s missing something?”

Bitty’s eyes went wide then, sitting back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “And what might that be, Mr Pie Expert?”

Jack bit his lip, then said, “Maybe some maple syrup?”

He knew he fully deserved the napkin which hit him directly in the face.

*** 

“Do you have skates?” Bitty asked an hour later when they were parting ways in the corridor. They’d spent nearly all afternoon in the empty dining room, sat by the window where Jack listened to all of Bitty’s stories, and watched the snow continue to blanket the world outside.

He blinked at the question, then laughed. “I’m a hockey player. Of course I have skates.”

Bitty grinned, reaching out to find his elbow, then gave it a small smack. “That’s not…I meant do you have skates here.”

“Oh.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the echo of warmth on his elbow still from where Bitty had removed his hand. “Yes, they said I could skate if I wanted.”

Bitty smiled. “I try to go at four o’clock every day. Sometimes I get booked up and have to adjust my time, but tomorrow I’ll be on schedule.”

“Erm,” Jack said.

After a moment of letting him hang, Bitty sighed. “You sweet thing, really. Do you want to skate with me?”

Jack stared. “Skate…”

“Well you’ve seen me. You know I can handle myself on the ice. And skating with a friend is always nice. And I think maybe…and I’m sorry if I’m out of line here, but it seems like you could use a little company. If it’s alright with your therapist,” he added kindly.

Jack swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he should say, honestly. He wasn’t sure what Mel might think. “Can I check with her?”

Bitty smiled, so soft and so sweet, Jack felt his heart thump in his chest. “Yeah of course you can. You let me know after your morning massage tomorrow and we can plan from there. If not, well then we’ll just get into more stories over our cookie lessons. Don’t think I’ll be letting you get away without sharing some NHL gossip.”

Jack chuckled quietly. “It’s a deal, Bits.”

Bitty’s cheeks quickly flushed red, and he ducked his head a little. “See you tomorrow?”

“I won’t miss it,” Jack promised, and realised right then, he meant it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ogod the bed-sharing trope. What even am I doing with my life?
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of anxiety, homophobic comments, threats of outing.

“I’m not disappointed,” Mel said after Jack finished speaking. His apologies were accepted, and her face showed nothing but honesty. “I’m impressed, in fact, that you’ve only had one really bad day. Jack…you realise you’re allowed to be angry, right?”

He swallowed, then nodded because yes, he did understand that. In theory. Anger could be a constructive emotion when used properly. He hadn’t though, and he didn’t regret apologising. “It’s been a long few months.”

“I want to talk about Ken Parson today,” she said after a moment, and he was startled into silence. “At some point we’ll need to confront everything, and if you’re considering speaking with him and hearing his apology or excuse—whatever it may be, we should discuss it first.”

“You have all the…notes,” Jack said, waving his hand at her. “You know what happened.”

“Me reading notes on a page isn’t beneficial to you, and I feel like maybe it wasn’t addressed enough in your therapy before everything changed.”

Before everything changed. Those words didn’t seem like enough to convey it. Jack had struggled with the idea of coming out for years, and hadn’t ever been really sure he would. But guilt ate away at him, because any time he dated anyone they would end up his dirty little secret.

And for all that he and Kent had a rocky, almost disastrous past, Kent deserved to be more than some sort of closeted shame. Jack had loved him.

“He threatened me,” Jack said.

She made a note on her paper. “Physically?”

Jack shook his head, making an aborted noise in the back of his throat before clearing it. “He wanted me to play for the Aces. He’s been…he’s been on me about it, but I’m happy where I am. Was,” he corrected, because it was still up in the air what was going to happen to him after all this. He scrubbed a hand down his face, but he realised it was a lot easier now, talking about this, than it had been the first time he’d been in his therapist’s office. “I think he was drunk, or halfway to it. He told me he missed me and I wasn’t very nice about that. He laughed at me. Somehow the conversation derailed after that, I ended up calling him a coward, and he called me a hypocrite and asked how afraid I’d be if he released some of the old pictures he kept of the two of us.”

“Has he kept pictures?” she asked carefully.

Jack shrugged, his face a little warm now.

“Jack,” she said carefully, “do we need to stop.”

He took a breath, then shook his head and reached for the water bottle sitting on the edge of the small table. The cool liquid soothed his throat and gave him a minute to recoup. “I don’t know what he has. I…back then I was on a lot of drugs. I was abusing my anxiety medication and things are fuzzy. There’s a good chance he’s got them.”

“And he would use them?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack admitted. “I think he said it to hurt me. We tend to do that, say things we know will hurt. But it…I was triggered,” he said, using the words his previous therapist had given him to describe what he went through. “I think I was less afraid of being out, and more afraid of being outed. Having no control.” He’d figured this out with the old therapist too. These were old words, and he knew she knew that. “I panicked and didn’t even run it by PR. I just…after the game I came out. They weren’t happy about it.”

“I expect not,” she said. “Their job is to protect you.”

“I know,” Jack said, because he did know.

“But you were still brave.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I was afraid is what I was. The worst was, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I expected protests, hate from my team, hate from the other team. When that slur was thrown at me on the ice, I wasn’t the only one who got upset.”

“No,” she said plainly. “You were the only one who lost control.”

Jack nodded. “I was. I told my therapist after that I wasn’t in control and I was afraid I’d resort to old habits.”

There was another pause. “And how do you feel about Kent now?”

Jack let out a tiny laugh. “Same as I always have.” He dragged a hand through his hair and offered a sort of defeated shrug. “Kent is one of the few constants in my life. He’s taking more blame for this than he should be. What he said was wrong, but I could have handled it better.”

She bit her lip, then said, “If you want to have some visitors, you can put a few names in at the front desk.”

Jack’s eyes snapped up. “Visitors.”

“I wouldn’t recommend Kent Parson,” she said, the corner of her lip twitching into a half smile. “But I know the holidays are coming up.”

Jack felt something unknot in his chest, like he could breathe after stepping out of a steam room. He felt a smile twitch on his lips, genuine, and he saw it reflected in Mel’s eyes. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “Alright, but back to business. You also said you wanted to talk to me about Eric Bittle?”

*** 

The session gave Jack permission to allow his parents, and Shitty to visit. More could be added later, if his stay was extended, though Mel insisted he was on track to leave after the month was over. Although Jack had reservations about spending personal time with Bitty… “I don’t want his own job at risk,” she told him that it was fine so long as it wasn’t considered fraternising with clients.

Jack assured her it was merely friendly, and she mentioned that if anyone was going to keep up with Jack on skates, Bittle was the one to do it. He told her about their one skate session which had only lasted fifteen minutes before the incoming storm made the winds difficult to navigate. They’d agreed to try again if they could.

Unfortunately, it was around that time a massive storm warning set in, and the snow levels were predicted to break records. The jogging trials, pond, and outdoor activities had been shut down, and there was a plan in place in case they lost power.

“We have backup generators,” the receptionist told him when Jack was filling out the visitor forms, “but we can only run them for short periods of time because of the carbon monoxide risk.”

Jack was no stranger to being snowed in, though he could tell from the anxious faces of some of the West Coast patients, they were less than thrilled about it. Cabin Fever could set in quickly, and he resolved to spend as much time as he could avoiding outside sources of anxiety.

Heading to his room, Jack planned on calling his parents, then Shitty to let them know about the visitor passes. Though it was nerve-wracking, and he still held on to a little fear of seeing disappointment again on his dad’s face, it would be good to not feel the oppressive loneliness of being inpatient.

As he walked into his room, he paused at the sight of another small tray on his desk. He couldn’t help his smile this time as he lifted the lid and saw a small plate of cookies in the shape of hockey sticks. The note below was written in the same scrawl as the last.

**Just a sample of what you can learn. Text me.**

There was a number beneath it, and Jack found himself adding Bitty into his contacts, even before opening up his favourites to find his parents’.

That conversation went quickly. His mother picked up, worry colouring her tone, but she assured him they would fly out just as soon as the airports opened. “We’re proud of you,” Alicia said gently. “Jack, mon chou, I promise you.”

“Merci, mama,” he said quietly, his heart racing, but more in a good way this time. “I’m doing well.”

“I can tell,” she said, and there was a smile in her voice. “Do you want to call back when your papa’s home?”

“Non,” Jack said. “I’ll just see you when you get here.”

“À bientôt, mon loulou.”

Jack flushed. “Ciao.” He rang off, then rang up Shitty almost instantly.

“You beautiful fuck,” Shitty said by way of answer. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive,” Jack said. “There’s a storm, but if you want to come visit when it passes…”

“I’m there. I’m so there. It’s Hanukkah next week, so I have to see my family for a couple nights but…”

“Shitty don’t…”

“Jack if you finish that sentence I will whoop your gorgeous Hockey Ass into next week,” Shitty warned. “I’ll be there.”

Jack breathed, resting the side of his head against the headboard. “Thanks.”

“You know it. Now, are you going to give me any hot gossip? Who’s there? Not that you’d recognise any celebrities even if that bit that gorgeous ass of yours, but give me something, man.”

Jack laughed, then proceeded to tell Shitty about his experience. When he got to Bitty, he stuttered a little, then heard Shitty laughing at him. “What?”

“You’re so in love.”

Jack flushed. “It’s not…like that. I … he’s…”

“Ah fuck man, I have to go,” Shitty interrupted. “I’ve got deposition in like an hour. Look just…I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Jack sighed, but he was smiling. “Yeah. Okay. Whenever you can get down.”

There was a pause, then, “I love you, man.”

Jack laughed. “I love you too.”

It was easy as it had ever been, and Jack felt less like a caged animal than he had before this. His meds were working better, and the guilt had eased up a little over his outburst. He glanced over at the table, at the small plate of cookies, and tried not to think of Shitty’s words.

He couldn’t let himself. This was not the place. And there was every chance someone as kind and wonderful as Eric Bittle wouldn’t want someone who would end up here.

That weighed on him a little, but not enough to prevent a text. _Bitty, it’s Jack. I’m out of my session, and the pond is closed so maybe raincheck?_

There was only a few minutes of a pause before Bitty replied. **I heard the warnings. Cookies? I can give you directions to my apartment.**

Jack wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t breaking some sort of rule, but Bitty had promised him to teach him something, and he thought it might be nice to try his hand at a new hobby. Maybe he could make Hanukkah cookies for Shitty or…something.

All he really knew was the prospect of spending more time with Bitty made his heart flutter and though he knew he shouldn’t do this to himself, he couldn’t help it. _Yeah, that sounds nice._

Bitty responded within seconds, and Jack found himself tugging on a fresh hoodie, beanie, and his trainers. The walk to the staff apartments wasn’t far, just a short jaunt across the courtyard. It felt…almost wrong to be there, if he was honest with himself. Like it was off limits, and it probably was. But he didn’t meet anyone in the corridor of the building, and when he got to the second floor Bitty was already waiting in the open door, his shoulder resting against the jamb, a smile on his face.

“How bad is it out there?” he asked, stepping aside for Jack to walk in.”

“Getting cold,” Jack admitted. “Just a light dusting now, but I can see the massive clouds in the distance.”

Eric sighed. “Same as last year. We lost power for five days.”

Jack pulled a face as Bitty shut the door. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I try to bake up a storm before it happens. Comfort cookies since they keep better than pies,” Bitty said with a small grin, beckoning Jack along. He walked toward the kitchen, keeping the tips of his fingers grazing the wall, then he reached round and flicked on the lights. “I don’t normally keep them on,” Bitty said with a shrug.

“Oh.”

After a moment, Bitty laughed as he reached into one of his cabinets for a mixing bowl. “You know if you wanted to ask me anything, I’m happy to answer. It doesn’t bother me. Also can you grab me the salt and baking soda from the cabinet?”

Jack swallowed, then reached over for one of the cabinets before Bitty caught his wrist and guided it in the opposite direction. “Other cabinet,” Bitty said with a laugh.

Jack bit his lip and found both boxes. “Can you erm. How much can you see?”

Bitty smiled, looking almost relieved. “Some. Mostly movement, difference between light and dark. It was an injury so technically my eyes work fine.”

“I…” Jack stopped. He knew about those. Cortical damage. He knew about any potential head injury. “Oh.”

Bitty, who was laying out ingredients in a line along the counter, stopped and turned. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Jack said swiftly. “I just understand it. Hockey,” he reminded him.

Bitty laughed. “Right.” He moved his hands along until he found a small tin, then pulled out several blank index cards. Or at least, Jack thought they were blank until Bitty’s fingers began to run over them. “Okay so, we should start easy. My moomaw’s chocolate chip recipe is to die for. And…is there anything else you wanted to try your hand at?”

Jack smiled sheepishly. “A friend of mine is coming to visit next week for Hanukkah. I thought we could maybe do some cookies or…something?”

Bitty brightened. “That’ll be new for me. Mind if I look some stuff up before we give that one a go?”

Jack smiled. “You mean more baking. Bits, I think I can handle it.”

Bitty’s cheeks went pink and he ducked his head. “Oh Mr Zimmermann, you definitely are going to be trouble.”

*** 

The baking went well. Jack followed directions, and was fascinated by all of the gadgets Bitty had in the kitchen to help with the baking. Bitty didn’t seem annoyed by Jack’s questions, and eventually they settled into small talk over cocoa whilst the cookies finished up cooling. It was really late, and Jack was feeling exhausted, but the very last thing he wanted was for this night to end.

“…and when I woke up it was…” Bitty waved a hand at his face near his eyes. “Some came back after a while, and they said it might all return but,” he sighed and shrugged. “I was only nine though, so you know, I adjusted faster than most adults would have. My parents weren’t…my dad took it the hardest. He didn’t love the figure skating, you know? Thought I might get into football and whatever. But it was what it was. Baking helped.”

Jack frowned. “Baking helped?”

Bitty let out a small giggle as he lifted his mug to his lips, his knee knocking into Jack’s lightly. “So I was at therapy and my therapist told me she wanted me to have an independence goal. I was…I was having a hard time at first. Dealing with the injury and everything. Not just my vision—my memory was pretty bad and I had some motor function problems. So she tells me, ‘hun, you need an independence goal. Pick something you want to be an expert at, and we’ll do it’. Lil shit that I am said something like, nascar but in the end, I told her I wanted to bake pies. My moomaw had all these recipes and she and I already did cobblers and cookies. So…I learnt to make pies. It became a thing. Memorising recipes and learning to commit new ones to memory and learning my way round a kitchen without bein’ able to see it. First one I ever baked was moomaw’s peach pie and the first time I got it right, I cried. Momma did, too.”

Jack felt warm inside, at this shared memory, like maybe Bitty trusted him and it made him feel oddly safe. “I…” He was about to share something of himself. He wanted to share something of himself. But suddenly the lights flickered, then went off.

He heard Bitty start in his chair, the kitchen now pitch-black apart from a vague glow out the window. Jack was frozen on his stool, his hands clutching at the mug.

“Did the lights just cut out?” Bitty asked.

“I…yeah,” Jack said.

“Well ain’t that something.” Bitty sighed, then reached over and took Jack’s hand. “Might as well follow me. Blind leadin’ the blind.” He laughed, which set Jack only a little at ease, but he followed Bitty to the living room, and the couch which was sat under Bitty’s larger window.

Outside not a single light was on, and the storm was raging. The winds had kicked up the snow to a blizzard, and it was piling high, inch by inch, across the courtyard.

“How bad is it? Can you see anything?” Bitty asked.

Jack sighed. “It’s bad. I don’t think…I’m not sure I should walk out there in that.”

“Jack Zimmermann, if you think a moment I’d let you set foot out this door in this mess…” Bitty gripped his wrist. “We might as well hunker down til morning, see if it’s safe enough to venture out come sunrise. If there is one.” He tugged at Jack’s sleeve, but Jack resisted.

“What euh…”

“We ain’t got heat,” Bitty said. “And I forgot to grab wood for the fireplace. Now been a while since I done any scouting but last I checked shared body heat keeps you from freezing.”

Jack flushed. “Oh.”

“I promise I’m a saint.”

Jack laughed a bit at that. “I’m not worried about you, Bits.”

There was a pause again, and in the dim light of the snowy bank, Jack could make out a tiny smile on Bitty’s face. “Come on, you. I don’t think I got anything that’ll fit you, but I have extra blankets and that should do us just fine.”

It was…surreal, to say the least. Jack following Bitty to the back bedroom which was difficult enough, even though Bitty knew the way. The dark felt terrifying, but less so with Bitty’s hand around his wrist, and less so when he stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt as Bitty held both of the down-filled duvets back for him to climb into.

“Come on. I don’t bite,” Bitty said.

Jack hesitated only a moment before sliding in. Bitty settled the duvets around them, and there was a hair’s breadth of space where Bitty’s hand rested next to Jack’s.

“Did you get your meds in?” Bitty asked.

“Yeah,” Jack breathed.

Bitty hummed, then rolled onto his side. “Alright. Well you just wake me if you need anything.” Then Bitty threw an arm around Jack and snuggled in close. “This alright?” he asked quietly.

Jack swallowed, then said, “Yeah, Bits. Sleep well.”

Bitty hummed quietly, then nestled into the pillow. The sound of his gentle breathing lulled Jack to sleep where he was sure there wouldn’t be any. And although this wasn’t ideal, Jack had never been more comfortable in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at my check please tumblr [omgittybits](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgittybits) (formerly omgcaptiveprinceplease)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay two more chapters after this, I think. Conclusion, then epilogue. But I plan to write loads more in the check please fandom, so feel free to come bother me [ on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgittybits) if you have a fic request. I might be slow (book writing time is coming up--for those of you who don't know I'm an author so when I'm actively writing novels it's slow), but I plan to fanfic when I can, so send themmmm! xx

Jack couldn’t pretend when he woke the next morning to find the snow had stopped, and the paths had cleared. Moving sounded like the worst thing in the world, when his arms were full of a warm body, a soft nose pressed against the side of his neck. Bitty was breathing gently, a little uneven as he came to consciousness.

Jack thought for a moment he might stiffen, pull back, something to show is discomfort about waking up wrapped in the arms of a stranger. Only that didn’t happen. Bitty blinked slowly, then one hand came up, touching the edge of Jack’s chin with sleep-stiff fingers. “Awake, hun?” he asked, his voice delightfully hoarse.

Jack hummed, nodding against the top of Bitty’s head. “Power’s back on.”

Bitty chuckled against him. “Yeah, I can hear the heater going. When did you wake up?”

“Il y a quelque minutes,” he mumbled.

There was a pause, then Bitty laughed. “Darlin’, I don’t think that was English.”

Jack blinked. “Ah sorry, my brain sometimes switches back and forth when I’m tired. No, it’s only been a few minutes.”

Bitty stretched then, though not moving far away from Jack. He flopped onto his back, stretching his toes out which Jack could see as they pressed up against the end of the duvet. His eyes blinked several times, then he rolled onto his side and his hand came to rest again on Jack’s waist. “Sleep okay?”

Jack nodded.

There was a pause, then Bitty said, “Did you erm. Nod or shake your head or…?”

Jack blushed and hid his face. “Désolé,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, I forgot. I did, I slept fine, thank you.”

Bitty snickered and his hand drifted up, ruffling Jack’s hair a little. “We should probably push on out of here, if the roads are clear. You get a look?”

“They’ve got them. I have to take my meds,” Jack said regretfully. “And check in with Mel, I think.”

“I promised the kitchen I’d pop in with a couple recipes for them,” Bitty said as he swung his legs off the bed. He stretched again, arms up, going onto his toes, and Jack took a moment to appreciate the curved line his body made, and he hated himself a little for wanting right now, especially during his recovery like this. He knew it was a bad idea, and he knew he should stop himself. “You want to get together again soon? After I find that Haunkkah cookie recipe? When’s your friend coming?”

“Soon as the storm is up, I think,” Jack said. He rolled out of the bed and struggled into his clothes from the night before. He wanted a shower, and ten minutes alone on the treadmill to run and think about this. His feelings for Bitty were growing, but he was afraid they existed because he wanted someone to cling to.

What Kent had done was remind him that people he dated could be unsafe. They would have access to parts of him they could use to hurt him if it didn’t work out. And Jack wanted comfort. He wanted to believe someone could like him, and never hurt him like that.

He’d been in therapy long enough to recognise the signs, and the very last thing he wanted to do was lead Bitty on.

“Can I text you?” Jack asked. “I know I have some sessions this week, and I need to make sure I’m keeping up on my training for when I have to head back.”

There was a moment, an expression flickering across Bitty’s face. A reminder this wasn’t a permanent place for Jack the way it was for Bitty. “Of course,” he said brightly, when the moment passed. He held his hand out, and Jack stepped into it easily. Jack was tugged into a tight embrace, Bitty warm against him, and when he stepped away, Jack felt the loss profoundly. “Text me any time.”

Bitty showed him to the door, and Jack, things in tow, headed out for his morning session.

*** 

Jack did his best not to take his frustration out on his body, though he knew he was stretching his work-out a bit far. But the run felt good, and breaking into a sweat did a lot to clear his head. Yes, the situation wasn’t ideal, but Bitty was the sort of person he could have easily fallen for under any circumstances.

He was bright, and gorgeous, and clever. He made Jack feel good, and not just when he was feeling down. 

Jack liked him.

That much he knew.

Of course, there was no telling if it could or would go anywhere. He was a celebrity Hockey Player, and his life came with a lot of speculation and publicity. He couldn’t ask someone like Bitty, a quiet, pie-baking massage therapist, to sign up for something like that.

By the time he was finished with his run, he was tired, but went on the weights a bit until he was satisfied. He had his standing appointment with Eric, which he hoped might relieve some of the stress—he could talk to him a little, feel him out, even.

Only when he got down to the spa, he was greeted by the receptionist with, “I’m sorry, Eric had to cancel for you. We have another masseuse ready to take over if you’re okay with that.”

Jack froze. “Erm. I can wait, you know? If something’s come up.”

She gave him a long, careful look before she said, “Eric requested to be moved.”

It hit Jack, like a face full of icy water, and he actually took a step back as she spoke. Bitty asked to be taken off as his masseuse? Had he…done something? Overstayed his welcome? Bitty had been insistent Jack share the bed, insistent he not walk alone in the storm. Had he done something in his sleep that…?

“Alright,” he forced himself to say.

He was brought back to a new room, and he undressed as he did every other time, and he got on the table like before. The smell was the same, the sounds, the warm towel across his back. But the hands were different. The voice was different.

It wasn’t Bitty and it wasn’t…what he wanted.

When it was over, he swore he was more tense than before, and it took him twice as long to struggle back into his joggers and t-shirt. He was zipping up the hoodie as he came out of the room, and he froze. Bitty was there, cane in hand, walking along the corridor. Jack’s breath caught in his throat and for a moment he thought he should say something, ask why Bitty had rejected him like that.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t make a sound, and eventually Bitty passed by, heading into his massage room, and the door shut with a firm click. Jack felt his heart ache as he moved to the front, set his next morning’s appointment, and headed back to his room to deal with the rest of the day.

*** 

It was near to dinner when his phone buzzed, and he sighed as he rolled over to check it. He was dealing with cabin fever—the grounds still mostly shut down from the off and on snow flurries and freezing temperatures. They lost power twice, but not long enough to make a difference in the heat, though Jack was more than ready to be out of there, or at least for the trails to open up so he could take his frustrations out on a long run.

He’d been texting with Shitty most of the day, and a few times with his parents. His therapist checked in twice, but he was feeling mostly fine—and honestly he didn’t want to bring up his feelings for Bitty with her just yet. He knew what she would tell him—it was too soon to explore romance, and he wasn’t ready to hear that from her.

Swiping open the screen, he expected it to be one of the boys, or possibly even Parse who had been quiet after those last texts.

Only on the screen was Bitty’s name. **Jack, can you meet me in the kitchens at seven? We need to talk.**

Jack felt his heart fly into his throat, thumping hard and making him feel dizzy. He felt the beginnings of panic rising in him, and he closed his eyes, reciting an old nursery rhyme with a soft tempo until his breathing matched it, and he calmed. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at the screen and his finger hovered over the keypad.

He had to confront this. He still had two and a half weeks left in his treatment and he couldn’t ignore Bitty forever. And it wasn’t fair. Whatever the reasons, Bitty had them and Jack knew he deserved to be heard, even if it was going to hurt.

With a breath, he responded swiftly, _Yeah I can be there. Euh, can you text me directions?_

He received a series of laughing emojis with the directions, and it confused him. Bitty was just as sweet, just as kind as ever, and if that was the case…why had he requested not to work with Jack anymore?

Feeling all nerves, he showered, then paced his room until it was time to meet with the sweet, ice skating baker.

*** 

The walk to the kitchens took longer than he expected, and honestly he wasn’t entirely sure what the environment was going to be like when he got there. He expected something large and industrial, filled with the centre’s employees.

Instead he found a homey, warm kitchen with mocha-coloured walls, and a massive, wooden table covered in flour and dough, with Bitty on the other side, wielding a massive rolling pin. Jack froze, then cleared his throat at the sight of the shorter man in a polka dot apron, with smudges of flour on his cheeks.

“Erm. Bitty?”

Bitty’s head popped up and he broke into a smile. “Jack, hi! Sorry for not texting you earlier, there was an oven crisis—we had to call in our handyman and as sweet as Dex is that boy has got…a lot on his plate.” Bitty waved his hand dismissively. “But we got it all sorted, and I even found a recipe I think your friend might like. They’re sugar cookies, I don’t think they’re real Hanukkah recipes but the reviews were real good.”

As Bitty blabbered, Jack took steps toward the baking table, then froze when his hands touched the wooden top. “Erm. I’m sure he’ll love them.” His voice was tense, he could hear it, and Bitty could too because he put the rolling pin down and folded his hands. 

“Something on your mind, Jack?”

Licking his lips, Jack dragged a hand through his hair. “You asked to be removed from my erm. Massages.”

Bitty’s face fell a bit, and his cheeks went rosy pink. “Yeah,” he said with a breath. “I did. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. It just…didn’t seem proper.”

Jack felt his body flush with embarrassment. So he had done something. He’d been…too obvious. “Oh. Well I…”

“I don’t get involved with clients,” Bitty said.

“Of…of course not,” Jack stammered. “I didn’t…”

“It’s my rule. Then you come along and the first time in just about ever I’m thinkin’ of breaking it which is silly because what’s a big ol’ hockey star want with some little Georgia boy anyway. But with my feelings the way they are, it just didn’t seem right to keep massagin’ you. If you don’t want to bake with me after this, it’s fine,” Bitty added, his face stout and resolute, though his tone betrayed his nerves.

Jack was stunned. Froze. Bitty had stopped because Bitty liked _him_. He swallowed thickly and then managed, “No, Bits. I…I like you too. I thought I was too obvious, thought I made you uncomfortable.”

Bitty’s face broke into a smile, soft and sweet. “Oh. Oh. Jack,” he said, almost a whisper.

Jack fought back the intense urge to rush around the table and do something. Kiss him, maybe…or…he wasn’t sure. But standing here seemed like the worst thing to do.

“Can you say something?” Bitty asked after a second, letting out a high, tight laugh. “I can’t…I can’t see your face and I’m not…”

“Crisse,” Jack muttered. “I’m sorry I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you would want to get involved. I’m such a mess, Bits. And after this it still wouldn’t be easy.”

Bitty decided that if Jack wasn’t going to move, he would, because he grabbed the edge of the counter and moved round it until he was stood right in front of Jack, one hand gently touching the hem of his shirt to keep himself oriented. “Jack Zimmermann, you’d be worth it.”

Jack reached up slowly, “Can I…touch you?”

“Go on,” Bitty said with a tiny smile.

Jack first laid his hand on Bitty’s shoulder, then moved up to cup the side of his neck. His thumb brushed along Bitty’s jawline, and he let out a shaking breath. “I can’t…while I’m here. I can’t. I need to focus on…on all this. But after…?”

“Friends is good for now,” Bitty said, even as he leant into Jack’s palm. “Friends is good, and then we’ll see, yeah?”

Jack let out a small laugh, then leant forward, burying his nose in Bitty’s hair to breathe him in. “Yeah. Friends is good.”

“No bed sharin’,” Bitty said, thwapping Jack on the side of the hip, and he jumped, then laughed. “That was almost too much.”

“Yeah,” Jack said from behind a chuckle. “I liked it though. And after all this, maybe we could try all that again. With more kissing.”

Bitty’s face bloomed bright red and he took a step back, shaking his head as he pulled away from Jack. “Boy, you really are gonna be trouble. Come on, let’s get your hands dirty and you can impress your friend for his holiday.”

*** 

“Happy Hanukkah you beautiful motherfucker!” came the crow, along with a shower of menorah and star of david shaped blue and silver confetti. Jack had been waiting in the lounge for Shitty to arrive, which he did in a flurry of confetti and snow. He was still wearing his kippah, his hair short this year, his ‘stache as glorious as ever, and Jack rose, letting Shitty kiss him gently on the mouth. “This place is amazing, Jack. I can’t believe this.” It had been a week since the storm, a week since he’d slept in Bitty’s bed, and the only thing missing now, he knew, was the presence of his friend who was finally here.

Jack rolled his eyes, gesturing for Shitty to sit, who did, kicking one of his feet up on the low coffee table. “Yes well, if you have the money…”

“Do not get me started on capitalism and the one percent Jacky-boy. Do not,” Shitty warned.

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Happy Hanukkah, by the way. How’s it so far?”

“The usual,” Shitty said, waving his hand at Jack. “Working through it, and home in time to stuff my face full of latkes—heart disease be damned—and steal some of the kids’ chocolate coins before I have to run and lock myself back in my office. My mother shipped half my gifts to the law firm this year.”

Jack shook his head. “Well I couldn’t…shop, obviously. So I euh…” He dug under the coffee table and pulled out the covered plate.

Shitty took it with some suspicion, then pulled off the cover to reveal badly done up menorahs and stars. He and Bitty had to use paper stencil cut-outs since no one in the area had cookie cutters, and they’d come out lopsided and wonky, and badly frosted. Shitty was teary-eyed as he took a bite, and groaned.

“Are you fuckin’ with me, bro. You did not bake these.”

“Well,” Jack said slowly, giving a helpless shrug, “I helped.” He felt a wave of pleasure surging through him at Shitty’s happy groan.

“Marry this man. This is the skater baker massager, right? Fucking do it. Marry him.”

Jack felt his face go hot. “You…do you want to meet him later? Before you go?”

Shitty set the cookie down and gave Jack a level stare. “Yeah I do. But you’re not…you’re not getting ahead of yourself, are you? Don’t get pissed, bro, I just…care, okay?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not angry, at all. I know, and we’ve talked, and we’re not going to get into anything until I’m ready.”

Shitty relaxed almost instantly. “Then yeah, I want to meet this gorgeous fuck who bakes like a literal angel.”

That was all it took, and after a long talk about Jack’s progress, they headed down to Bitty’s office at the spa, Shitty exclaiming the entire way about how absurd the whole place was—and Jack could hardly argue given the circumstances—and they eventually ended up at his door.

Jack knocked, having texted first so he knew Bitty was free, and they were let in immediately. “Bitty, this is my oldest friend, Shitty Knight.”

Bitty held out his hand, then laughed when he was dragged into a hug. “Sorry man, but those cookies, I owe you at least a one our make-out session.”

Bitty flushed, but grinned happily. “I’m glad. I was a little worried—never did nothing for Hanukkah before, but I have some other recipes so…”

“Brooooo,” Shitty said, clapping him on the shoulder, “you just get my address and you come over for any holiday. I’ll celebrate them all if you bake for me.”

Bitty snorted, then gestured to the chaise as he took up his office chair and sat. Jack and Shitty both lowered themselves to the comfortable seats, and Jack bit his lip nervously as Shitty began to ramble on, asking questions about massage, and about adaptive technology, and Bitty’s figure skating.

Jack was hardly part of the conversation, but he realised, with a sudden warmth, he didn’t need to be. They were getting along like they’d known each other forever, and Jack was struck then with the knowledge that this—one of the hardest parts—was actually one of the easiest.

“Bro, swear you’ll text me. I’ll be heartbroken if you don’t,” Shitty was saying as they finally parted ways that evening.

They were standing near the exit, Shitty holding Eric’s shoulder lightly, smiling. “We are so going one-on-one sometime.”

Bitty laughed and closed his hand over Shitty’s for a second. “Definitely. Now I’ll leave y’all to your goodbye. Jack…see you later?”

“Wait for me,” Jack murmured. “In the kitchen.”

Bitty smiled. “Alright. You have a good night, hun,” he said to Shitty, then headed back inside as Jack turned to his friend.

“Fuck man, I like him,” Shitty said from behind a breath. “You really going to go for it?”

Jack smiled, nodding, and he watched the light in Shitty’s eyes. “I like him.”

“He’s gonna be good for you,” Shitty said, then dragged Jack into a hug. “Do not be a stranger. Things are dying down out there. You’re not the number one topic on ESPN, and they’re speculating about your return. It’s going to be fine. It is.”

Jack breathed, then nodded. “I think I’m feeling more ready. And I’m…I feel sort of…happy.”

Shitty laughed, then kissed Jack on the cheek. “You deserve it, Jack. Never let anyone make you think you don’t.”

Then he was gone, and Jack waited until the shadow of his friend blended into the shadows of the car park before going back inside.

He took the long way to the kitchen, but soon enough found Eric sitting on a chair near the baking table, holding a cup of tea in his hands. Jack made sure he was noisy enough coming in, and said, “Hey,” softly as Bitty turned his face toward the door.

“He get off alright?” Bitty asked, patting the chair he’d pulled up next to him.

Jack sank into it with a sigh, and smiled. “Yeah. He’s…he liked you.”

Bitty laughed, his cheeks a bit pink. “I’m likeable, what can I say.”

“I know you are,” Jack muttered. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and then said, “My treatment is done in a little under two weeks. And erm…” He swallowed. “I have to go back to Providence after that. Not far from here, but it’ll be a few weeks of media clean-up. You…do you know what happened?”

“I do,” Bitty confessed. “After we talked about…about us,” he said slowly, “I looked it up. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you talk about it or anything.”

Jack shook his head. “You can look up anything you want about me,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity. “I like you, and I’m not going to hide anything from you, Bits.”

Bitty smiled into his tea as he took a sip. “Well same for me, Jack.”

Jack nudged Bitty with his elbow. “As I was saying, I…when it’s done and I have spare time, I want to take you out. On a date.”

Eric let out a puff of air, his smile as bright as the sun. “I’d like that.”

“Can I hold your hand?” Jack asked, feeling a little ridiculous, but less so when Bitty smiled and held his palm out for Jack to take. Their fingers slotted together, Bitty’s small in his, and perfect. So perfect. “If we date, I just want you to know, people are going to care once we’re…I mean if we go public,” he said, stroking his thumb across Bitty’s knuckles. “You’ll get asked a lot of questions, stupid, invasive questions. You’ll get followed on twitter, people will…” He stopped, his voice going tight with fear. What if it was too much for Bitty, what if…

“Jack,” Bitty said, gently squeezing back, drawing Jack into the present. “Jack, I know this. I work here, remember?” He nudged Jack with a small laugh. “Do you have any idea how many celebrities and sport stars we get here? Trust me, I know what it’s like. I’m not…” He took a breath and squeezed Jack’s hand. “I don’t think I’m looking forward to it, but you’re worth it, okay? So stop frettin’, sweetheart. I’m in if you’re in.”

Jack let out a small, involuntary laugh, then leant his head in. “Would it be too inappropriate for a small kiss?”

Bitty laughed, but turned his head and found Jack’s cheek with his other palm, cupping it lightly. “Probably, but I ain’t really known for bein’ overly proper.”

Then their lips met. It was a slow, soft brush, chaste but made Jack tingle all over. He let a sharp breath out through his nose, then tugged Bitty in closer, pressing their lips harder, though the kiss didn’t deepen. When they pulled apart, Bitty rested his forehead against Jack’s, nuzzling their noses gently, and he grinned.

“Like I said, I knew you were gonna be trouble.”

“Worth it?” Jack asked quietly.

Bitty giggled and nodded. “Yeah Jack. Worth it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next a little Epilogue. Thanks for reading this. All of your comments and kudos have been soooo so appreciated and wonderful. xx I'll be starting a new AU Zimbits fic soon based off a short ficlet I did with AU NHL Jack and Baker Shop Bitty. So look for that soon xx

Bitty’s laugh cut right to Jack’s core, it’s so bright and wonderful. Bitty spun round Jack a few times on the ice, then grabbed his hand gently, their fingers soft and warm together in spite of the weather. Jack was checking out tomorrow, and with his therapy, with his group sessions, and slowly easing back into answering press questions and speaking with his team, he had little time for more than a couple of baking sessions, and a few good night texts with Bitty.

But the date was still on, at least according to both of them.

“Come on, Mr Hockey Star,” Eric chirped as he let Jack go to spin a few rounds on the ice, then into a spin. He stopped, facing away from Jack, laughing, and Jack skated up to touch his shoulder. “Impressed?” Bitty asked as he turned.

Jack wanted to cup his cheek and kiss him. He wanted to wrap him up and take him home and not let him go because he was falling so hard, and so fast. His head was spinning with it, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. “You know I am,” he finally said.

Bitty laughed again, then took Jack’s hand once more. “Come on, I’ll walk you through a few moves.”

It was ridiculous and Jack on his hockey skates was bad at everything Bitty showed him, but neither of them stopped laughing, and neither wanted to let go of each other’s hands. They stopped a while later, skating carefully to the bench where they shucked the skates in favour of shoes, then Bitty reached down and pulled a thermos out of his bag.

“Hot chocolate. My mama’s recipe. It’s made with homemade cashew milk.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Homemade.”

Bitty laughed. “We have many talents, us Bittles.” He grabbed two Styrofoam cups, only slightly squashed, and filled them carefully with his finger just inside the rim. He licked it off, and Jack tried not to watch that, taking the chocolate and sipping on it.

It was…different, sweet and rich and creamier than any he’d had before. He could taste a faint hint of the cashew beneath it, but it was warm and good.

“Well?” Bitty demanded.

“I think it would be better with a side of pie,” Jack chirped.

Bitty’s eyes went wide, then he smacked Jack on the elbow. “Funny, Mr Zimmermann.”

Jack chuckled into his cup and sat back, letting their knees knock together. “I can be. Sometimes.”

“You didn’t smile a lot when you first got here,” Bitty said after a short while. “Your voice was…it was hard, wasn’t it? All of that?”

Jack let out a puff of air, scratching at the side of his temple where his beanie made his skin itch. “Yeah. Euh…my ex. We…we were together when we were a lot younger. Neither of us were really good for each other. I was battling my anxiety, he was trying to keep up with my reputation.”

“Bad Bob’s son,” Bitty offered and when Jack made a noise of surprise, Bitty laughed. “I have the internet, Jack.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Yeah well…it was a lot for me to live up to, and it was a lot for him to live up to. He was in my shadow. We…it was angry a lot and…”

“I read your bio,” Bitty said quietly. “I’m…I mean I don’t totally understand, but I get it when I say I know how life can bowl you over and overwhelm you until you can’t think straight. My dad, he’s a good guy but he wanted somethin’ different in me. He wanted someone like him. Instead he gets a gay son who ice dances, then knocks himself into oblivion and wakes up blind. There was a lot of conflict between us. Things are good but…they’re strained sometimes. It’s why I prefer livin’ here. So…I don’t get it. I don’t get the pressure of celebrity but…”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed. He reached out, touching the side of Bitty’s wrist with his fingertips, just for a second. “We had a fight over the phone. He was drunk and angry, threatened to out me.” Bitty sucked in his breath, but didn’t say anything. “He didn’t mean it. I know he didn’t but my head sometimes…it doesn’t focus on logic. I reacted. I didn’t want him to take this away from me, my right to come out on my own. So I came out. I just blurted it out, and I didn’t give anyone time to prepare. Then someone used a term on the ice that…well. I lost it, and I knocked him down and I just kept hitting him until they dragged me off.”

Bitty licked his lips, then carefully turned to Jack and lifted a hand out. “Can I touch you? Just…hold your hand or…?” Jack took it quickly, and Bitty squeezed. “I don’t condone violence, and I can’t say I understand what it’s like to deal with mental illness like that. But I get the fear, and I get that we live in a world where it could ruin you. And it ain’t fair that your job means you gotta take risks just for existing as you are. Sweetheart, you deserved better.”

Jack felt his throat tighten, and he cleared it. “I know. And it feels better now. I was angry about being here but…I get it. And I feel like…I’m confident I can be better.”

“Just remember you don’t have to be anything you’re not,” Bitty said. When he didn’t let go of Jack’s hand, Jack smiled and shifted closer. Bitty’s head dropped onto Jack’s shoulder. “If bein’ with me becomes too much…”

“I’m tired of sacrificing things that make me happy for the comfort of others,” Jack said quietly. “Hockey is…it’s what I do. I don’t know much outside of it. But I like you and I want to try. This, I mean.”

Bitty laughed quietly and nuzzled a little closer. “Then in a few weeks, if you’re really good, you take me on a fancy date. Waste some of that absurd celebrity sport salary on me.”

Jack laughed and pushed his nose into the top of Bitty’s hair. “I will,” he promised, and Bitty giggled.

*** 

He left without saying a real goodbye. They both agreed to wait. Because the temptation to kiss would be too strong. They both felt it, they both wanted it, wanted more than just casual brushing of fingers and gentle hip-checks whilst baking cookies.

Jack knew this was for the best, but climbing into the back of the car with his phone in hand, watching the centre disappear behind him, made him ache. He looked forward to the road ahead, but missing Bitty was visceral.

He arrived back at his apartment with a list of things to get done. George needed to be his first phone call, and then he’d have to swing by and see the team for practise. The coaches would want to go over his schedule, he’d need to do press, issue his apology and his statement about the importance of mental health. He had You Can Play behind him addressing the homophobia rampant in the NHL but he wasn’t sure it would be enough.

He was feeling stronger though. He put his carry bag on the counter and unzipped it, and a second later, his breathing stopped. Tucked on top of one of his sweaters was a small plastic bag, wrapped tight around what looked like a dozen cookies. There was a familiar, tiny post-it note with felt-tip pen scratched across the top.

**To tide you over until we see each other again. ~ERB**

Jack felt his heart swell and the temptation to text Bitty was almost too strong. Instead he set them aside and finished what he needed to do. The conversation with George didn’t take too long. She gave him the info he needed regarding his statement—he’d have a couple days to reply, they’d prepare the draft and he’d go over it, and she’d schedule the press conference.

The coach was expecting him at morning practise, he’d be there and he was ready to get on the ice if they wanted him. The team had made several statements in support of Jack, and that was enough to keep him focused and ready to start again.

They were still in the running for the playoffs. It wasn’t over. He still might be able to grip the cup in his hands at the end of the season. If he kept his head about him.

Taking a breath, Jack took his phone into the living room and flopped on the couch. He thumbed through the unread messages, staring at the black text, feeling both love and concern for him from people who cared.

The last time it had gotten this bad, it had been Kent. It had been Kent with him and they were both so terrible for each other, it had no other way to go but crash and burn. But now, there was more. Jack was…he was better.

He just wished Kent would try harder.

He hovered over the contact number, then pushed it. There was every chance Kent was at the rink, they had a game soon and there was no way he had free time, but Jack was startled when a slightly breathy voice picked up.

“Zimms?”

Jack swallowed. “Hey, Kenny.”

There was a pronounced, tense pause before Kent laughed. “Fuck, man. I didn’t…look if you’re going to scream at me, can you get it over with?”

Jack scrubbed a hand down his face, then let out a breath. “I’m not…that’s not why I called. I’m home now. I’m…it’s better and I’m home.”

“Zimms I…” There was a tense pause, and a funny sound and Jack had the feeling Kent was shucking his skates to find somewhere private to chat. A long time passed before he spoke again. “I fucked up. I keep fucking up when it comes to you, and I’m sorry, man. I am.”

Jack shook his head. “You do, but I haven’t made it much easier on you. I’m…it happened and I’m out and…”

“Look, that fucker, he was fined, and suspended for what he said. And I’m…I think I’m going to come out, you know? I was scared and it was so much but I don’t want you to do this alone. Shit man, I’m sorry. I was fucking scared out of my mind when they dragged you off the ice. I kept…I kept seeing you…”

Jack knew exactly what Kent kept seeing, and he interrupted. “I know, but it wasn’t like that. I just needed to get my head on straight and it is. I…I met someone.” It slipped out, just like that, and suddenly Jack felt a weight lifted. “I like him. He’s…I mean I don’t know if it’s going to go anywhere, but if I wasn’t out, it wouldn’t have worked.”

There was a tense pause, then a slightly wet laugh as Kent said, “I’m happy for you, Zimms. I am. It…I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a little, but fuck all I’ve wanted for you was to be happy.”

“I know,” Jack murmured. “I want that for you too. And I wanted to let you know that I don’t blame you. I’m not angry. We’re good, Kenny.”

There was a muffled noise and Jack pretended it didn’t sound like Kent was crying. He came back on the line a minute later. “Okay, Jack. Okay. Look…can we talk soon? We play…what, in a few weeks? Can we see each other then?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We can. Take care, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too man.”

Jack rang off, and stared at the screen of the phone and it took him several moments to realise he was smiling. He touched the sides of his mouth with his fingertips, then he opened up his texts and tapped out one to the contact labelled, Bits.

_Thanks for the cookies. I’m going to eat them slowly. Things are good, and I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll text you when I’ve got an open weekend and we’ll go on that date. I’m so glad I know you, Bits._

It was an hour before he received a reply, but what it was warmed Jack to his core. **I’m glad I know you too. Go easy on those cookies. There’s plenty more where they came from. It doesn’t take much to convince me to bake. See you soon. xx**

*** 

It was four weeks and three days before Jack had an open weekend. But the moment he learnt about it, he sent a text off to Bitty who responded with several emojis—only half of which made sense, but Jack felt just as giddy.

They’d been chatting a lot, over text, over the phone. Skyping when Jack had time. Things were tense, but Jack was back on the ice, and they were winning, and things felt good. Just before his free weekend, they played the Aces and beat them 6-5. Kent hugged him on the ice, and after they had a couple of beers and Jack showed off pictures of Bitty.

“A figure skater,” Kent said. “Who bakes. And he’s blind. Like…with a cane and everything blind?”

Jack shrugged, feeling a little tense, scared Kent was going to go into offensive territory. But he shoved his phone over and when Kent looked at the selfie Bitty had sent, he burst into laughter. “Fuck man, you have a type.”

“Va chier,” Jack muttered, and Kent laughed. “He’s…I think you’d like him.”

Kent put his hands behind his head and smiled. “Yeah well, you always did have good taste.”

They laughed, and drank a bit, and when Jack got home, he felt like things might really be okay.

*** 

The drive back to the centre had him all nerves, and it felt weird to be there as a guest rather than a patient. It felt like a world away, and he didn’t miss it, but he missed the sight of Bitty in his apron, dancing round the kitchen after hours, rolling pie crusts and singing.

He missed the jogs, and being able to see Bitty swirling round the pond on his skates. He missed sneaking down to the spa and relaxing with the smells, feeling Bitty’s hands on him.

Bitty was waiting for him near the entrance to the car park, and Jack pulled up near the gate instead of going all the way in. He switched off the car and got out, coming round to the side and drinking Bitty in. He was wearing slim jeans, a cardigan, a beanie tucked over his hair against the cold. He had a jacket slung over one arm, and his cane loosely dangling from his fingers.

“Hey,” Jack said as he approached.

Bitty’s face went soft and fond as he held out a hand toward Jack. “Hey yourself. How was the drive?”

Jack took the offered hand, hesitating, but he decided he didn’t care, and brushed his lips across the back of Bitty’s knuckles. Bitty giggled, a blush crawling across his cheeks, but when Jack pulled his face away, he didn’t let go. “It was nice. Not too bad, and I got us booked at a restaurant not far from here.”

Bitty smiled and tugged Jack in for a proper hug. “I’m looking forward to it. I missed you.”

The words warmed Jack to his core, and he let himself bury his nose in Bitty’s hair. “Been a while. Come on, so we don’t miss our reservation.”

Bitty climbed into the car, folding his cane and putting it between his feet as Jack got in, and before long, they were on the road. They made careful small talk on the drive, Jack occasionally reaching over to hold Bitty’s hand as he navigated the unfamiliar roads.

He wasn’t used to the area, but GPS got them there okay, and there was valet which made parking easier. Bitty took his arm as Jack came round the side of the car, and he leant in. “Is this okay? It sounds crowded.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Euh…what should I…I mean is there anything I should…do?”

Bitty chuckled quietly. “Warn me about steps, or if I’m going to run into anything.”

Jack swallowed, feeling an odd weight of responsibility, but it also felt nice to have Bitty’s hand on him. Luckily there wasn’t much in the way of obstacles heading into the restaurant, and Jack had used his name to secure a private booth near the back of the restaurant. It was a half circle, which allowed them to sit close together, almost snuggled up, and the hostess dropped two menus before walking off.

Bitty ran his hand across the top, then sighed. “Not braille.”

Jack’s face flushed. “Oh. I should have asked or…I should have…”

“Most of them don’t carry them, it’s alright. So long as you don’t mind reading to me.” His face was soft, with some hesitation, and Jack couldn’t help but lean into him slightly.

“I don’t mind,” he murmured.

Bitty’s blush went darker, and he swallowed. “Go on then, Mr NHL. Tell me what looks good.”

They went through the menu line by line, Jack’s soft voice going over all the entrees. Bitty laughed, chirping him a bit at his over pronunciation of the French foods, but in the end Bitty chose a pasta dish, and Jack went with a fish, and they agreed to share so Jack wouldn’t technically be breaking his meal plan, but was able to splurge a little.

It was nice. They ordered a glass of wine each, and the food came, and they talked softly, leant into each other like no one else in the entire world existed.

It was a first date, and Jack was already so gone, he knew there was no turning back. If Bitty decided it was too much, if he decided Jack wasn’t enough, Jack knew he would be crushed.

But if Bitty was thinking it, he showed no signs. He held Jack’s hand through dinner, told stories, chirped him, confessed about his Instagram which Jack quickly followed. Whilst they waited for dessert, Jack brought up Kit Purrson’s and spent several moments describing the best photos.

“Kent is absurd,” Jack said, chuckling along with Bitty. “He loves that cat more than life.”

“Sounds like you two are…doing better?” Bitty asked.

Jack sighed. “I miss him. I…there are moments where I wish we could have been better for each other, but also I’m glad we have this. Friendship, you know? What we have on the ice is just that, and what we have off the ice is…” He didn’t have the words.

But Bitty was smiling. “I hope I get to meet him some day.”

Jack felt his heart thud in his chest. “Yeah. I…that would be…I mean next game, maybe. If it’s in Providence, maybe you’d like to come?”

Bitty’s smile got wider. “Yeah? Transport might be an issue but…”

“I can send a car,” Jack said in a rush.

Bitty froze, then laughed loudly. “Oh my dear lord, send a car. That’s the most posh thing anyone’s ever said to me. Send a car. Alright, Mr Zimmermann, you send a car and I’ll come to your game.”

Jack’s cheeks blazed, but he was grinning and leant into Bitty. “Can I…”

“Yes,” Bitty said quickly. “Whatever you want, yes.”

Jack wanted so much more than this, but he only let himself brush his lips delicately across Bitty’s cheek. When he pulled away, they were both a little breathless, and Bitty took his hand, squeezing it. “Should we ask them to box up the cake to go? I…I’m staying…I mean if it’s too much we can…but I…” His English was failing him terribly, and Bitty laughed quietly.

“I want to take it slow. With us, but I won’t say no to spending another night in your arms, Jack.”

It was like someone had stolen all his breath, but in the best way. He let his arm slide round Bitty’s waist and hitched him as close as he could, trapped in the booth by their table. When the server came over, Jack quickly requested the dessert be packed up, and he was presented the bill, paying quickly.

They took their things and headed for the door, Jack passing over the valet ticket. He kept Bitty tucked in his arms, the promise of kissing, of touching a little, of holding him all night making him giddy and euphoric.

It was only interrupted by a couple of shy people, young twenties, staring at him. He was recognised, and was tempted to look away, but he had a lot to make up for after what he’d done on the ice. So he offered a polite smile and head-nod, waiting for the inevitable.

“Oh gosh, Jack Zimmermann,” the taller one said. “Could we…I mean…god I’m sorry you’re at dinner on like…on like a date but if you could sign something I just…my dad would just die.”

Jack smiled and let Bitty go long enough to sign a couple of receipts—that was all she had—and then take a couple of selfies. “If you tweet them, I’ll find you,” Jack said with a smile as he took Bitty’s hand again.

The girl blushed, then said, “Can I just say that you two look really cute together and um…and what happened before…he totally deserved it.”

Jack shook his head in spite of his smile. “What I did was out of hand, but I’m hoping the NHL starts doing better in the future for the out players.” He couldn’t help a wider smile when the girl took the other girl’s hand and they went inside.

“You really are a star,” Bitty said, a little breathy. “Autographs. Selfies.”

Jack felt his stomach twist. “I…yes. I am. Is that…I know it’s a lot but…”

Bitty dragged him closer and shook his head, going on his toes to kiss Jack—quick and chaste—but so soft. “It’s fine,” he promised, giving Jack’s cheek a pat. “Just hard to remember sometimes when it’s just you and me.”

“I’m…this is who I am, I promise,” Jack breathed, holding him close.

Bitty smiled against him. “Oh darlin’, I know.”

*** 

Back at the hotel, Jack went to change as Bitty did a careful map of the room, getting a bare bones description from Jack first, then did some steps counting from the bed to the bathroom. When Jack came back out, Bitty was lying on top of the large bed, his hands behind his head, and he was grinning.

Jack, stripped to his boxers and t-shirt, eased himself next to Bitty and leant down to kiss him on the side of the neck. Bitty shivered, turning his head to the side to give Jack better access. “Mm, that’s nice,” he groaned.

Jack hummed against his skin, letting his hand push up Bitty’s shirt, splayed flat against firm abs. “You’re nice,” Jack replied, voice muffled by the kissing.

Bitty laughed, then pushed Jack away so he could wriggle out of his clothes. The pair of them slid under the blankets, and Jack let Bitty take the lead, Bitty’s hands cupping his face, deepening their kisses, drawing them out and slow, tongues sliding, hot and silky and wet.

“This is too nice,” Bitty groaned. “And I’m not going to get this again for a while, am I?”

Jack sighed as he shook his head, his lips trailing across Bitty’s jaw. “I’m sorry. It’s…playoffs are soon and my team’s doing well. I wish I could promise you more time.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty said. “First thing you know about me, sugar, is that I’m a very patient man.”

Jack chuckled as his hand went up the back of Bitty’s shirt, pressing hard so their torsos collided. The kiss this time was a little rougher, needier, though Jack was careful to keep his hips away. “I’m not,” he finally murmured back.

Bitty laughed and nipped at Jack’s shoulder. “Then I can teach you.”

Jack pulled back after a second, face flushed, and heart racing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m…I don’t meant to be too forward.”

“Oh hun,” Bitty said, pulling Jack close again. “You’re not. I just…I like you so much and you’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t want this to be harder on you.”

Jack carefully turned Bitty in his arms, tucking his back against Jack’s front. His hand went out and flicked off the light, and he buried his nose in the back of Bitty’s neck. “Be mine.”

Bitty startled, then put his hand over Jack’s. “Is that…do you…” He stopped a second. “Is that some Canadian slang I don’t understand or…?”

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Jack said. “I like you. We can go slow, but I want you to know I’m in this. With you, if you want me.”

Bitty turned carefully and cupped Jack’s cheek, grinning. “Alright. Alright Jack,” he said, and laughed when Jack surged up and kissed him again. “I was yours anyway,” Bitty added, right up against Jack’s mouth. “I was just willin’ to wait until you were ready to be mine.”

Jack pressed his hand over Bitty’s heart and held it there, over the rapid beating. He smiled, and pushed their noses together. This was it. He could feel it. And he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr [omgittybits](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgittybits)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and a little ridiculous, I know. But I really didn't have all that much left to write in this fic. I might do more in this universe at some point though, but I have a few more fics to get done before that. So just consider this a ridiculous little epilogue of fluffy Zimbits. Thanks so much for your amazing comments, and thank you for reading. You're all the best! x

Bitty straightened, the pie delicately balanced on his oven mitt as he felt for the counter, then slid the pie down. The moment it was free, he smiled because he knew what was coming next. He could feel Jack’s anxious fretting behind him. Warm arms reached round his waist, tucking him backwards, up onto his toes. Warm lips planted against his neck.

It was business as usual.

Bitty hummed, then turned gently, his hand coming up to cup the side of Jack’s face. He grimaced at the feel of rough hair which would soon turn into more. “When are playoffs over again?”

Jack laughed, pressing the curve of his smile into Bitty’s palm. “With any luck, they end with the cup in my hands.”

Bitty let his fingers drag through the beard. “Hmm, the price I pay for your glory.”

Jack’s hand slid down the front of Bitty’s shirt, the backs of his knuckles dragging along the waistband of his shorts. “Does it help if I promise to make it worth your while?”

“The night you get home after celebratin’ with the boys, it comes right off,” Bitty said, wrinkling his nose.

“The night we get home,” Jack corrected, tugging Bitty closer. The flat of his palm covered Bitty’s arse almost entirely, and Bitty found it endlessly amusing that Jack enjoyed holding him like this. “You think I’m going to celebrate without you.”

“Well, I’d offer to DD, but I think you’d be safer with a drunk driver than a blind one.”

Jack snorted and kissed under Bitty’s ear. “Ridiculous. We’ll get an uber. And I meant it, Bits. I don’t want to be there without you.”

It was approaching a year and a half now, since Jack had left the centre, since he had started dating Eric Bittle. Eric, who had quit his job with the centre to take up freelance massage, and on the weekends working at the local school for the blind giving ice skating lessons. They shared Jack’s Providence apartment now, happy—no, more than just happy. They were content. Bitty heard the jingle of a collar, which meant Lapin was up from his nap and would probably need a walk shortly.

Bitty had decided on the guide dog after agreeing to move with Jack to Providence, seeing as he didn’t know the city well, and Jack would be gone on roadies a good portion of the year. It had taken some getting used to, for both Jack and Bitty to make it work. Jack had to learn how to live with Bitty, and Bitty had to learn how to share his space with Jack. But neither of them regretted it.

“What time you need to be at the arena?” Bitty asked. He reached to his wrist, flipped the face cover off his watch, and felt for the time.

“A few hours,” Jack said. “You want me to walk with you and Lapin?”

Bitty smiled, loving the way Jack’s accent curved round the dog’s name. “I think that might be nice. Maybe we can get some luck to rub off on you.”

Jack squeezed Bitty’s waist and nipped at the side of his neck. “I don’t need love, mon coeur. You know I’m going to kill it.”

Bitty laughed, patting Jack’s cheek before turning round and switching the oven off. “Mm. You’d better. I don’t want to have to listen to Parse’s chirping all over my twitter feed.”

Jack laughed and kissed the back of Bitty’s neck before grabbing the leash. “You want the harness?”

“Nah, he’ll be workin’ enough for me tonight at the arena. Shitty coming?” Bitty untied his apron, feeling round for the hook, then slipped it on before washing his hands.

“He will. Commentating for you the whole time,” Jack vowed.

“Well, at least he’s enthusiastic,” Bitty said with a smile. He grabbed his cane, shoving the folds into his back pocket as Jack got the leash on the dog, and they headed out the door. It was a nice day, Bitty pushing his sunnies up high on his nose as they made for the pavement. He kept hold of Jack’s arm as Jack let the pup walk ahead, and they moved toward their favourite park.

“Lot of dogs out?” Bitty asked as they neared the dog park fence.

“Few. No one we know,” Jack said. Entering the gate, he let Lapin off the leash, then the pair headed to a bench whilst the dog went wild. Bitty leant into Jack’ breathing gently against him, their fingers tangled together.

“Love you.”

Jack startled a little, laughing as he pushed his nose into Bitty’s hair. “I love you too. What was that for?”

“Dunno.” Bitty traced his fingers down Jack’s palm. “Just wanted to say it.”

Jack shifted a fraction closer. “Well, I can promise you I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

Bitty grinned. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

*** 

They won. They won that game, lost the next, and then when it came down to the final game, it was tied into overtime. Bitty was pressed against the plexiglass, his hands splayed out to keep himself balanced as Shitty screamed in his ear. It was too close, both the Aces and the Falconers were too determined, too dead-set on taking home the victory.

Bitty wanted this for Jack. He wanted it too badly. The year before had been a mess, Jack had been devastated and lonely and terrified. He knew Jack wouldn’t crumble with the loss, but if he could just…

“SCORED! THAT’S MY BOY YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKER HE SCORED!” Shitty’s voice rang out over the raging crowd and the chaos descended as the game ended and the Falconers won. Bitty was hoarse and exhausted by the time he was done screaming, being dragged near the ice by Shitty and jostled by people, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care when Jack’s hands found him, and held him by the face, and kissed him. Bitty was aware of bright flashes of cameras everywhere, of people screaming congratulations, of his team losing their minds over the win.

Bitty was hoisted up against Jack’s chest, and then his voice spoke in Bitty’s ear. “I love you, I love you Bits. Marry me.”

Bitty froze, then grabbed Jack’s face, sweaty and cold and hot all at the same time and he laughed into the kisses, laughed until he couldn’t breathe. “Yes, of course! Yes, sweetheart.”

Jack kissed him and kissed him until he was pushed back into Shitty’s hands and he was shouting even as he was being dragged away. “Wait for me. I won’t be long. Wait for me!”

Bitty was confused and turned round and on the verge of tears, but Shitty had him tight and was pulling him toward the corridor—away from the crowds, where they could meet Jack. “You beautiful fuckers,” Shitty said. “You know I heard that. Married. What the fuck.”

Bitty could hear the smile in his voice, his hands trembling, holding his cane in a white-knuckled grasp as he walked the corridors. He could hear the echoes of press and players and family.

It was some time after, Bitty was calmer, Shitty was texting everyone they knew, and Bitty caught a whiff of an all-too familiar cologne, then a warm hand dropped on his shoulder.

“Jack just told me. Congrats, Bits.”

Bitty smiled and dragged Kent into a hug. “I hear there’s a congrats for you too, darlin’.”

Kent laughed in his ear. “Not that kind. But yeah. Tater and I are heading off to Hawaii in a couple of weeks. Celebrate his win.”

Bitty shook his head. “How y’all can even manage with that—beatin’ each on the ice, then what? Rubbing each other’s wounds at home?”

Kent snickered. “Something like that. Anyway, we’d better be getting an invite to the wedding.”

“Goodness, it’s only been ten minutes,” Bitty said, smacking Kent’s arm. “But you know you’ll be there. I expect you’ll be in the wedding, Kent Parson.”

Kent stiffened, then dragged Bitty into another hug. “Thank you,” he breathed in Bitty’s ear. “For being good for him. And good to him. Someone needed to let that son of a bitch love himself. I’m glad it was you.”

Bitty felt his cheeks heat up, and he squeezed Kent’s wrist. “You deserve it too, Kenny.”

Kent squeezed him one last time. “Here comes your boy, Bits. You two have a good night.”

Bitty let him go, only to be crowded back against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life. Bitty could still hear the clicks of cameras, the press nearby, people shouting questions, but Jack ignored them. He was kissing Bitty along his jaw, almost desperate.

“You said yes,” he breathed.

Bitty laughed, cupping Jack’s cheek and pulling his head back just a little. “Did you think I’d say anything else, sweetheart? That I wouldn’t want to spend an entire day professing my undying love for you.”

“You two are disgusting. I’m calling Ransom, see if we can still fine your ass,” Shitty said, but he sounded absurdly happy.”

“Fuck off, Shits,” Jack said with a laugh.

Bitty threaded his fingers through Jack’s, and tugged him a little closer. “Come on, we need to celebrate your win. Later we can celebrate us.”

Jack sighed, dipping low again to press a kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “I love you. I…you said yes.” Repeating it like he just couldn’t believe it was true.

Bitty bit his lip, then squeezed Jack’s fingers. “Well you asked.” Bitty took Jack’s arm, and they started down the corridor, heading out for Jack’s final press, then to meet with the boys.

Later they _would_ celebrate on their own, and later Bitty and Jack would hold each other, tight enough to remind themselves that this was real. That Jack asked. And Bitty said yes.


End file.
